


To Solve a Crooked Rhyme

by orchidwitch



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cult, Demons, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Ghouls are not human, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Police, Prophecy, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2020-02-16 09:58:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18689203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchidwitch/pseuds/orchidwitch
Summary: Elizabeth Lund's brother decide to go backpacking through Europe on a whim. That wasn't out of place, but the fact that he hasn't contacted her or their mother in over a month certainly is. In an attempt to find him, Elizabeth travels to his last known location, Sweden. Unfortunately, the police are no help and leave her on her own.But Elizabeth refuses to give up, and her search for her brother leads her to a strange old abbey full of Satanists, an age-old prophecy, and perhaps even into the arms of a certain special ghoul.





	1. missing

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys, look who's back with another mediocre-at-best fic! as with 'witch image,' i'm not going to make any promises about regular updates or anything, because i'm really just writing these for fun. i also have finals coming up at uni and recently started a new job so i'm pretty busy! i just like to procrastinate and write ghost fanfiction lmao. 
> 
> that being said, i'd love to hear from you guys! if you have a comment, don't be afraid to leave it down below and i'll try my best to reply to you! i've loved interacting with everyone that i've come across here on ao3, it's a super cool and supportive community, and i wanna thank you again for being so nice to me here. 
> 
> ALSO, just as a disclaimer, i know nothing about swedish laws or police tactics except what i gleamed from google, so don't come after me for that. and the police aren't exactly supposed to be helpful here for reasons yet to come, of course. 
> 
> thank you guys again!

My brother had always been a wildcard. I never quite knew what was going on with him, what he was thinking or what he was feeling or what he was going to do. And as frustrating as that was for our mother, I always found it sort of thrilling. In my eyes, my big brother was the coolest guy around, even with his all-black outfits, penchant for ratty leather and studs, and love of loud, hellish music. As scary and rebellious as he seemed to most, my brother was truly a good guy underneath it all. He gladly took on the role of doting big brother to me once our father left. In many ways, he acted more like a dad than he did a brother to me. He taught me how to drive since Mom didn’t have time because she was working so much, he got me into all of the music he liked, he scared off all my potential boyfriends, and he was always, always there for me, no matter how much of a bratty little sister I was. 

So, not hearing from him for nearly a month wasn’t at all like him. Sure, he was unpredictable, but he always let me know what he was up to once he figured that out himself. Last I knew he decided to take a trip to Europe, starting up in Norway and working his way all the way down to Italy, seeing all the sights and going to all the heavy metal shows he could along the way. He texted and called for the first week to keep me updated, but after that, it was radio silence. No texts, no phone calls. After a couple of days, his phone went dead, and Mom and I couldn’t even leave anymore voicemails. 

Needless to say, Mom and I were terrified. Matthew was wild, but he wasn’t reckless—he kept us up to date, and he wasn’t stupid, never having been the kind of guy to get messed up with crime or drugs or whatever else. We did what we could think of doing, which was going to the local police. Unfortunately, the Rochester, New York police department wasn’t very helpful. They said that there wasn’t enough evidence to say that anything had happened that would warrant an investigation. He was a grown man, they said, and a weird one at that, the kind of guy who might just disappear to Europe for a while and show up again someday. That, and they assured us that if anything had happened, that they couldn’t do anything about it. Only the police in the place where he was last known to be could do anything to help us. 

The last place that Matthew had contacted us from was Linköping, Sweden. In a desperate measure to try to figure out what the hell had happened to my brother, I temporarily quit my job and used what little money I had to book a trip halfway across the world to try to find him. I just needed to know that he was okay. I wasn’t going to give up hope until I had to, and even then, if it came to that, I’d keep fighting to find out what happened and get justice for him. But I really didn’t even want to think about that possibility. 

Luckily for me, the Swedish police in Linköping were very kind and readily available to help me, despite me being a mess and an obnoxious American. After a day of dealing with some bureaucracy at the consulate, I was able to set up a meeting with the Police Secretary, their equivalent of the chief of police. I was terrified at what the Swedish police would be telling me, but I remained as hopeful as possible in the stressful situation I was in. 

“Would you like another cup of tea, Miss Lund?” asked the kind-faced receptionist. She politely took the empty mug from my jittery hands and waited for an answer. 

“Oh, no thank you,” I replied. I gave her the best forced smile I could muster, my legs still bouncing up and down nervously. “I think I’m all set for now.” 

“Alright, but let me know if you change your mind,” she said. “Or if you decide you would like a glass of water or anything else.” 

“Thank you,” I repeated gratefully. 

“No problem,” she assured me. “Police Secretary Nyquist should be with you in a few minutes.” 

I thanked her once more before I watched her disappear through a door behind her desk, presumably to clean up my mug. I was grateful for the cup of tea she’d happily prepared for me. Mom and I had been tea drinkers our whole life, so it was a nice little piece of home to comfort me when I was so goddamn far away from home for such a shitty reason. That, and I appreciated the warmth, as it was a cool, rainy day outside, as if the weather was reflecting my drained, anxious, and gloomy spirits. 

I chewed the remnants of my fingernails anxiously. I didn’t know what the Police Secretary was going to tell me. For all I knew, he could tell me that my brother was dead and that they’d found his body weeks ago, waiting for someone to show up and claim him. I hoped that wouldn’t be the case. In my gut, I felt that wasn’t the case. I truly believed he was still alive, just missing, somehow. I just hoped that my gut was right. 

The door to the Police Secretary’s office opened, startling me. I clutched at my chest through my jacket and tried to calm down as two men exited the office, laughing jovially as they shook hands and spoke to each other in Swedish. One of the men was clearly the Police Secretary, judging by the badge affixed to the chest of his crisp white shirt, and the fact that he was more mature looking, with wrinkles by his eyes and in his smile lines, and his blonde hair fading to a paler gray. The other man was dressed oddly elegantly, though, in a sharp black suit with flashy sunglasses concealing his eyes, despite there being absolutely no need to wear them in such weather? 

Maybe he’s blind? I thought, trying to figure out why the hell someone would need sunglasses inside on a rainy day. But he didn’t have a cane, nor a service dog or anything, so that theory didn’t make much sense. Either way, the man in black separated himself from the probably Police Secretary, passing me on his way to the elevator. He looked in my direction, and though I couldn’t see his eyes through his dark glasses, I shivered when he glanced at me, feeling his strange stare through the sunglasses. 

God, I’m fucking paranoid. 

“Miss Lund?” asked the Police Secretary. 

The sound of his voice made me jump again, as I’d been too busy watching the strange man in black, who had now disappeared into the elevator. 

“Oh, yeah, that’s me,” I said. I hastily tried to settle myself down, wiping my sweaty palms against the thighs of my jeans before standing to accept the Police Secretary’s extended hand to shake. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, though I apologize for the circumstances,” he told me in impressively smooth English. “I’m Police Secretary Nyquist; we talked on the phone briefly yesterday when you were at the consulate in Stockholm.” 

“Yes, I remember,” I nodded. “Thank you for seeing me so quickly.” 

“Of course, of course,” he said. He gestured for me to walk into his office, which I did, sitting in the cushioned armchair opposite his large desk, which he sat behind. “I understand you’re very concerned about your brother and I was happy to see what I could do to help you...besides, missing Americans are always bad publicity...it’s a matter best cleaned up quickly.” 

I furrowed my brow at the comment, watching him open a manila folder. I didn’t like that the Police Secretary seemed to be irked by the possibility of ‘bad publicity’ for his city, whatever that meant, and not irked by a possible murder in his city. He slipped a pair of reading glasses onto his nose as he rifled through the papers. His expression faded to one that I didn’t find myself liking—he seemed bothered by having to look into my brother’s case, and almost bored by it. 

“With the information you provided over the phone to one of my commissioners, we were able to pull your brother’s phone records from his time here, as well as his time in Norway,” Nyquist explained. “It looks like he was in contact with you and your mother until three weeks and six days ago, correct?” 

“That sounds about right,” I confirmed. “He decided to come to Europe for a full tour of the continent on a whim, which isn’t unlike him...but he would never, ever go this long without calling or texting my mother or I.” 

“Yes, well, your brother was a bit of a...wildcard, wasn’t he?” Nyquist questioned, raising a brow. 

“Yes,” I verified. “But he’s not irresponsible, and like I said, he would never go this—” 

“Miss Lund, I understand,” he interjected. “You do not believe your brother would be the kind of young man to go missing, especially without informing a family member first.” 

“Exactly.” 

Nyquist let out a sigh. My eye twitched with annoyance. 

“But typically when someone wants to be gone without a trace, they don’t inform people before doing it,” said Nyquist.

“He wouldn’t go missing without a trace,” I retorted firmly. Seeing the look in his eye, I asked, “You think he wanted to go missing?” 

“Perhaps,” Nyquist replied. “Your brother’s cell phone records show that his last location was at a remote site about an hour north of here, at Helvetefönster.” 

He said that like I was supposed to know where or what Helvetefönster was. Maybe I would if I was a local, but he seemed to have forgotten that. 

“Helvetefönster?” I repeated in hideous Swedish, trying to get him to explain. 

“It’s a remote patch of woods a bit outside of the city,” Nyquist explained. “A place known to attract, erm, different sorts of people. Back in the 1990’s, it was full of black metal enthusiasts performing supposed Satanic rituals, but in recent times it has been a popular destination for suicides and the dumping of corpses.” 

I felt like I was going to vomit. He was suggesting that Matthew was dead, and maybe even suggesting he’d committed suicide. That couldn’t be it. That could not be what happened to my brother. He was happy. Yeah, he was wild and he was into some weird, even dark sorts of shit, but he was a happy, content guy, not the kind of guy to fly all the way to Sweden to commit suicide in some strange forest. 

“You think he killed himself?” I asked, my voice growing strained as my eyes grew watery. 

“It is a possibility that he did by now, yes,” Nyquist said. He shut the manila folder, no longer allowing me to peek at the phone records. “But my team tends to believe that he went there for another reason.” 

“Which is?” I pressed desperately. 

Nyquist sighed. He clasped his hands together atop his desk and then said, “The area is known to be home to...well...a cult, for lack of a better term.” 

“A cult?” I echoed. 

First the guy was terrifying me, now he was practically making me laugh. He seriously thought that my brother, a guy who couldn’t deal with any ounce of authority, had gone and joined some supposed cult in a foreign country? 

“The group could be defined as a cult, yes,” Nyquist answered noncommittally. “We have found more than a few missing people in their ranks in the past few years, and when I spoke to one of my men in the field, he believed he had visual confirmation that your brother was amongst them.” 

A spark of hope burst in my chest. 

“So he’s alive?” I asked, feeling something other than anxiety for the first time in weeks. 

“We think so,” Nyquist nodded. “But the thing is, Miss Lund, that this is where my help to you ends. I can tell you that your brother is almost certainly alive, but that is all I can do for you.” 

“What do you mean?” I questioned. “Can’t you take me to him, or get him and bring him here to talk to me?” 

“No,” Nyquist said, as if I was ridiculous for even suggesting so. “Your brother is a grown adult. Unless he has been in the country for over ninety days, we have no legal ground to apprehend him...after ninety days have passed, we can bring him in for overstaying his trip, but until then, there is nothing we can do. And, seeing as your brother has been in Sweden for, at most, twenty-seven days, meaning he has sixty-three more days until we can do anything.” 

I felt like I could punch this guy. I’d come halfway across the world to try to figure out what happened to Matthew, and now Nyquist was telling me that he knew he was alive but couldn’t help me find him for some bullshit legalities? I mean, I didn’t know shit about Swedish laws, but that didn’t sound right to me. However, I got the feeling that Nyquist wasn’t concerned about my brother regardlessly. He was staring at me expectantly, like he was waiting for me to thank him and fuck off. 

“So you’re saying if I want to see my brother in less time than two months that I have to go find him myself?” I asked incredulously and furiously. 

“Yes,” he confirmed. He yawned, tucking my brother’s folder back into the filing cabinet behind his desk. “Helvetefönster isn’t far, Miss Lund. You can get there tomorrow if you wanted to badly enough, and you have the legal right to see your brother, something my men and I can’t force him to do.” 

“Fine. I’ll find him myself, then,” I nearly spat. I got to my feet, furious and on fire, tossing my bag over my shoulder. Though I didn’t exactly want to say it, I stopped on my way to the door and thanked him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he drawled. Lips turning up into a bizarre smile, he said, “Good luck on your trip to Helvetefönster, Miss Lund.”


	2. anders borg

It turned out that getting an Uber ride to Helvetefönster was a lot harder than I anticipated. There were plenty of available nearby drivers, but no one seemed to be willing to make the hour-ish long drive north. I tried Lyft and faced the same problem. I even tried calling up local taxi companies and as soon as I mentioned where I needed to go, the person on the other end of the line quickly informed me their drivers didn’t go that far, or, in the case of one lady, suddenly didn’t know how to speak English. I was beyond frustrated, to put it very lightly. I was in a foreign country, sleep-deprived, and experiencing a roller coaster of emotions. I was elated to know that the police had pretty much confirmed that Matthew was still alive, but I was furious that no one was willing to help me get there to find him. There was no public transportation between Linköping and Helvetefönster as far as I could find. According to the internet, there wasn’t even transportation between Linköping and the town nearest Helvetefönster. The only way I could think of getting there was walking, and at this point, I was seriously considering marching my way through the cold rain to try to find Matthew.

But, at the moment, I didn’t have the energy. I had been sitting in the café in the lobby of the apartment building of my Air BNB furiously researching methods of transportation, bouncing between my phone and my laptop. I had been crying, I had been up for more almost eighteen hours straight, and I was running on coffee and adrenaline and nothing else. I was in no shape to attempt a marathon sprint to Helvetefönster, no matter how badly I wanted to be. The only crazy thing I could think of doing was walking or hitchhiking to Helvetefönster in the morning, rain or shine.

In the meantime, I had been researching this Helvetefönster place itself. I had to translate most of the web pages that came up because they were all in Swedish, but even so I didn’t find the articles to be much help. Most of them were from the nineties at best, detailing various petty crime incidents, usually involving black metal fans or punks and acts of arson and accused Satanism in the forest. One detailed the gruesome killing of a cat in ‘97, but that was the worst thing that I could find, and it didn’t exactly give me any useful information pertaining to my brother. There was a Wikipedia page that came up at the bottom of the first page of Google search results page that sort of gave me some information, at least about the history of the land itself. The page read:

_An abbey in the forest was constructed by Bridgettine nuns in 1366, and ran continuously under their care until 1599, when all Catholics were banned or exiled from Sweden, these laws enforced by the death penalty. Locals subsequently stormed the abbey and forced the remaining nuns out, burning down the majority of the building and destroying the majority of the religious relics stored there._

_The land remained without residents for the next few hundred years, though there were plenty of rumors about it being haunted. The 1990’s brought new interest in the land, which was nicknamed Helvetefönster (loosely translated as ‘hell window’) by local black metal fans who flocked to the abbey ruins for meetups and to perform Satanic rituals. The early twenty-first century saw Helvetefönster become a popular dump site for bodies of murder victims, a phenomenon that has continued in recent years. In 2010, the ruins of the abbey and the forest of Helvetefönster were purchased by private owners who were supposedly planning on renovating the ruins._

I sighed, running frustrated hands through my hair as I finished reading the Wikipedia entry. That was all well and good, but it didn’t give me much to go on. Yeah, it sounded like somewhere Matthew would go. He was all for the haunted and the macabre, even if he didn’t really believe in it himself. But that still didn’t explain why he went missing. I wondered who had bought the land, but wasn’t able to find any way of tracking that down.

Maybe Nyquist was right, and the land had been bought by weirdos seeking to start a cult, since it sounded like the prime place for freaks like that. Maybe Matthew had gone there for a day of sightseeing or something and gotten mobbed by the apparent cult and was being held hostage there, or worse: maybe he had gotten brainwashed by them and was staying there with them out of his own free will. But that didn’t add up to me either. Matthew was a free spirit. He was ridiculously independent to the point of it being a fault of his. He hardly accepted help from anyone. He definitely wouldn’t listen to anyone. This fierce independent nature of his made it hard for me to believe that he would join a cult out of his own accord, let alone allow himself to be sucked into one without fighting his way out by now.

“Elizabeth Lund?”

My head snapped up to see a timid looking man, perhaps only a few years older than me, standing nervously before my table in the corner of the café. He was dressed in well-pressed office attire, and had a wet raincoat folded awkwardly over one arm and a briefcase in his other hand.

“Yes?” I asked awkwardly.

“Hello, my name is Anders Borg,” he introduced. He was keeping his voice low, his eyes darting around the busy café like he was paranoid about being watched. “I work for the police department here in Linköping, but I’m here, eh, off the record.”

I raised a brow. Nyquist had been hardly any help at all. The rest of the police officers all gave me the cold shoulder on my way out of the police building, communicating the message that they weren’t going to help me anymore loud and clear. The fact that one of them was here now, and genuinely seemed nervous about being here, intrigued me. If he was here on his own accord, maybe he had some information would help me, and maybe he’d be willing to help me himself.

“Have a seat,” I said, gesturing to the chair opposite me.

“Thank you,” Anders said, bowing his head slightly. He draped his jacket over the back of the chair, settling into it awkwardly as he rubbed his nose nervously with the back of his hand. He was having a hard time making eye contact with me, but he finally said, “I understand Secretary Nyquist didn’t give you much information about your brother.”

“No,” I answered flatly. “He didn’t.”

“Yes, well…,” Anders drawled. His eyes bounced to the window. He seemed thankful that the motion that caught his eye was just a passing bicyclist and nothing more. “Nyquist has allowed himself to be bought, if you know what I mean.”

I mulled his sentence over for a moment.

“You mean the cops here are dirty?”

Anders shook his head fervently.

“No, I wouldn’t make that accusation,” Anders said. He gulped, clearly terrified that what he was saying would come back to bite him. “I’ve worked for the Linköping police for seven years now, and I can confidently say that for the majority of those years that we have upheld honorable standards. But last year….”

“Things changed?” I supplied.

“You could say that,” he admitted lowly. He gulped again, eyeing the man who entered the café with suspicion. “You see, my little sister went missing a little over a year ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” I blurted out immediately.

I could tell from his eyes that he was being genuine. He looked like he could’ve started crying just by mentioning his sister, and with my current situation, I could really empathize with that.

“It’s alright,” he said unconvincingly. “But the circumstances were very similar to your brother’s circumstances. Like your brother, my sister’s last known location was at a concert for Ghost—”

“Ghost?” I repeated. That was one of my brother’s favorite bands. I felt like a fucking idiot for not having thought about that before—wasn’t Ghost from Sweden after all?

“Yes,” Anders nodded. He chuckled darkly and remarked, “I suppose Nyquist didn’t tell you that was where your brother was last seen?” “Nope,” I answered. “Well, that was his last known physical location, until the end of his cell phone records we traced to Helvetefönster,” he told me. “Which is where my sister’s last cell phone activity was traced to as well.”

“What does this all mean?” I asked.

I could see that the puzzle pieces were connect in his mind, but they weren’t at all fitting together in my brain.

“You’ll think I’m crazy,” he commented. A grim smile came onto his face as he rubbed his chin, the wheels in his head spinning.

“I won’t,” I promised. Well, I might think that he was crazy, but I needed to hear it, no matter how crazy it was, if it lead me to Matthew.

Anders drew a deep breath and released it slowly, trying to calm himself down before speaking to me again.

“Well, since my sister disappeared, I’ve been doing everything I can to try to find her, as any brother would,” he began. “But my fellow police officers made that incredibly difficult...when I requested to view the security footage from the venue of the show, they heavily edited it and then gave it to me, refusing to let me see the unedited footage. They wouldn’t allow me to interview any of the staff of the band or the members themselves, and everyone I tried to talk to myself refused to speak, saying they’d already spoken enough to police. I tried going to other city officials to see who bought that old abbey at Helvetefönster, but the city records office refused to give me the information, saying I had to get Nyquist’s permission to review the files...all of it was extremely strange. I think they’re protecting someone.”

“But who?” I pressed. “The people who own the old abbey?”

“Yes, I think so,” the jumpy police officer replied.

“I don’t think you’re crazy for saying that,” I informed him. “That makes perfect sense, especially if whoever owns it now is rich and powerful.”

“Yes, but I haven’t explained myself fully yet,” he said. He chewed down on his bottom lip, raking a hand through his slightly disheveled dirty blonde hair. “I think the band Ghost itself has something to do with it.”

“Okay…,” I said slowly. “How so?”

His eyes flickered through the café. He twiddled his thumbs and his eyes came back to meet mine.

“Do you have a more private place to talk?” he questioned quietly. “A hotel room?”

“My Air BNB is right upstairs,” I said. “We can go there.”

“Then let’s go,” he encouraged, leaping to his feet.

I hastily got my things together, clutching them all haphazardly in my arms, and Anders and I were off, taking the elevator up to the sixth floor. Once we got to the tiny apartment I had for the next two weeks, he checked that the door was locked six times, and made rounds around the small space to make sure the windows were locked and blocked by curtains, as well as checking the phone, television, and my phone and laptop for bugs or whatever. It was a lot to witness, like I was seeing a scene from a movie. The paranoia made me feel like something even worse had happened to Matthew, but I had to get over the increasing fear if I ever wanted to see him again. I just hoped that this Anders Borg guy was the real deal and was telling me the truth and that all of this madness would be worth it.

“Okay,” he sighed. Now that he felt that the apartment was safe, he joined me on the sofa, taking another deep breath.

“Okay,” I said. “What were you going to tell me?”

“Well, like I said, I think the band itself has something to do with both my sister and your brother’s disappearances,” Anders said. He was struggling with himself, unable to believe what he was about to admit to me. “I think the band is more than just show and theatrics...I think they’re a real Satanic cult.”

I fought the urge to laugh with every last bit of my willpower. Anders’ cheeks flushed. He understood why I wanted to laugh, but he remained steadfast in his opinion.

“I know it sounds crazy,” he went on. “But that’s what I think. I’ve looked into it, Elizabeth, and it weirdly adds up...the abbey was bought in 2010, shortly before the band’s first record came out. Six out of the nine murder victims found in the surrounding woods since 2010 have been known fans of the band, all attending concerts or record signings of theirs in the week before their disappearance. Police have caught more Satanists and Ghost fans sneaking into the woods illegally since 2010 than they did during the Satanic panic during the 90’s, except they’re keeping it on the down low now, for some reason.” He paused, staring me in the eyes. He could see he hadn’t fully convinced me.

“Okay, I know it sounds circumstantial at best,” he admitted.

He rubbed the forming tears from his eyes with the heels of his palms, an act that tugged at my heartstrings and made me want to cry too. The two of us shared the same pain of having a missing sibling, an experience I couldn’t relate to just anybody on.

“I just have a hunch; you have to believe me. The rest of my coworkers are doing their best to cover everything up, and everything I know points to Ghost or Ghost fans being involved with some sort of cult activity at Helvetefönster...and I...I just have to look into that before my little sister is one of the dead bodies someone finds at the edge of the forest.”

I swallowed my tears as Anders wiped at his eyes with the cuff of his sleeves. I didn’t want Matthew to be one of those bodies either. And as crazy as Anders’ theory sounded, I was desperate. I’d take any lead or information to find my brother, no matter how insane it sounded up front.

“I haven’t gone there yet because I didn’t want to disrespect my coworkers and superiors,” Anders told me. “But now that your brother has gone missing under the same circumstances, I can’t, in good conscience, stay silent anymore. I never wanted this to happen to anyone else, and I’m so sorry it happened to your brother...I think it’s time I finally do something before anyone else gets hurt.”

There was a brief pause in our conversation as we stared into each other’s eyes knowingly and tearfully.

“And I know this is asking a lot of you, but I wanted to ask you if you were willing to come along to Helvetefönster to investigate with me,” he asked timidly. “I completely understand if you say no, but I don’t know if I have the courage to go there on my own.”

I set my jaw, but nodded quickly. No matter how horrifying investigating a supposed haunted forest that may or may not be full of Satanists and dead bodies seemed, I would do it for my brother.

“Of course,” I answered. “Anything to find my brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, i'm back with a new chapter! this past week or so has been hell, between getting settled in at my new job and prepping for finals. of course, i still somehow managed to make time to write my silly little ghost fic, but it has been ROUGH. i can't wait for this semester to end cause it's really sucked! then i'll have more time to write and whatnot, but until then, please be patient. 
> 
> oh, and i know there hasn't been a lot of actual ~ghost~ action thus far but bear with me! it'll be coming soon! and i hope i can make it good lmfao.
> 
> that being said, i really appreciate all of the love this fic has been getting. you guys are so nice to leave comments and kudos and i know i sound dumb but i could honestly cry knowing people actually like what i post, even if it is just a dumb lil ghost fic. so thank you guys again, and i hope you enjoy this chapter, and i'll do my best to reply to everyone down in the comments. thank you and i hope you enjoyed!


	3. putrefaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! i'm putting the notes at the beginning of this chapter because it gets a little, uh...gross later on, and i wanted to give that warning ahead of time just in case anyone in squeamish. nothing too bad, but if you're sensitive to stuff like that (particularly dead bodies), maybe skip around a little bit towards the end. 
> 
> also, i just have to thank everyone again for being so nice and supportive with this fic. i'm having a lot of fun writing it, and now that i only have one more exam left in the semester from hell, you can -probably- expect more frequent updates, but then again who knows, life gets in the way sometimes. thanks again everyone, and i hope you enjoy this chapter!

I slept restlessly that night, tossing and turning in the stiff, foreign sheets. I was hot and then I was cold, I couldn’t find a position that was comfortable for longer than a couple of minutes, and I jumped every time I heard something down on the street. I knew it was the nerves that were keeping me up. It was daunting to know that I was going to investigate a supposed Satanic cult in middle-of-nowhere Sweden with a stranger who also happened to be a cop working off the record. For all that I was risking, I might not even find Matthew. If I didn’t find him, I didn’t know what I would do or where I would go from here. I didn’t have any other leads and the police certainly weren’t going to be of any help. In a lot of ways, I felt like Anders Borg was my last chance, and I didn’t even know if could trust him at all, let alone as a source of reliable information. 

When I did finally fall asleep for a short period of time, I was tossed into a nightmare and a bout of sleep paralysis. That wasn’t unusual for me. As a kid, I was prone to sleepwalking and the worst kind of sleep paralysis, the kind that made me wake up to panic attacks, causing my mom to nearly have a panic attack of her own because of the intensity of them, and all the work that it took to calm me down. She always blamed them on the trauma I supposedly endured during her and my ‘father’s’ divorce, but I never really bought that explanation. 

Instead of the usual plot of my sleep paralysis nightmares—an intruding murderer, a strange shadowy figure in the corner of the room, a looming hag—my current sleep paralysis nightmare was much more rooted in reality, or so it seemed. Most of my recent nightmares were about Matthew. I’d see him at the end of my bed crying out for help, tears streaming down his face, and as soon as I’d reach for his hand, I’d snap back into consciousness, waking with a jolt in a room that was empty except for me and my cat. 

I dreamt of Matthew again, but this time there were two strange masked figures holding him back, each with an ironclad grip on either one of his arms. He wasn’t dressed like himself. He was wearing a weird black robe-thing, almost like something a priest would wear, or at least like the Catholic ones at school did, but it was worn and dirty and ill-fitting. He looked exhausted, his hair unkempt, grown out so that his light-brown roots were showing against the parts of his hair that had been dyed black. There were bags under his eyes and he could use a shave and he was skinny and gaunt. He looked like he was on the edge of death. 

I tried to yell out for him. I tried to get up to fight the masked men off of my brother, who edged closer and closer to death the longer he stood there. But of course I couldn’t get up. My brain registered the experience as sleep paralysis, and yet it was still so vivid that I couldn’t make myself let it go. I strained every bit of my brain and every last muscle, fighting my body to try to get up to run to Matthew, who hung limp between the two masked men. 

Then, very suddenly, another masked face appeared directly in front of mine. Bright green eyes stared at me through the holes of the mask, making me shiver, cold racing through my body down to my bones. 

_ “Wake up, Elizabeth,”  _ the third masked face said. 

And so I did. I was awake in an instant, gasping and clutching at my chest, feeling my heart race. I gulped down the glass of water on the nightstand in a failed attempt to sober up, raking my fingers through my rat’s nest hair as I adjusted to reality once more. I knew none of it was real, but it felt _ so _ real, even more real than usual. Adrenaline was pumping through my system, my heart rate was still elevated, and my breathing was still heavy. I shook my head and cursed my brain for not being able to sleep normally.

I glanced at the clock and saw that it was 6:06 a.m. and decided, though that was ridiculously early, that it was better to get up and start my day rather than try to sleep any more. I swung my legs over the bed, my bare feet meeting the cool wood floor as the rain continued to beat down on the windows. Linköping was just starting to come alive—the first folks were on their way to work, via car and foot, and a couple of cafés started opening. I did my best to ignore the outside world and the desirable normalcy of it all as I went about making instant coffee and some scrambled eggs in the tiny kitchenette of my Air BNB. 

I didn’t eat much of the eggs but I downed nearly the entire pot of coffee, washing the dishes and taking a long, hot shower. With shaky hands, I got dressed and packed my bag. I was fairly unsure of what I needed for a Satanic cult investigation, so I decided to pack my usual: phone, charger, earbuds, wallet, notebook and pen, gum, water bottle, and sunglasses, though I didn’t really think I’d get the chance to use them. I dressed in layers and tied my hair back, sitting by the door to wait for Anders like a lunatic as I chewed my nails down to bloody stumps. 

He arrived to the apartment around 8:30, half an hour earlier than promised. He was a flustered, anxious mess just as I was, which, weirdly, made me feel a little bit better about my own state of anxiety. If he was a cop and he was still this nervous, then I definitely wasn’t crazy for feeling as nervous and terrified as I was. 

“It’s about an hour drive from here,” he informed me mousily as I buckled myself into the front passenger seat of his small car. “And, uh, there’s not a lot out there, so if you need a bathroom break or a snack on the way, please let me know.” 

“I will,” I nodded. 

He gave me a forced smile and pulled his car away from the curb, joining the line of traffic headed north and out of the city. I went back to chewing my nails as I thought of all the possibilities I could be running into: my dead brother, my alive brother, my brother in a cult, my brother killed by a cult, random dead bodies, a cult, and the actual band Ghost being an actual Satanic cult—or nothing at all, just a stretch of rainy, Swedish woods. 

“Thank you for coming with me,” Anders said, cutting through the thick silence. He swallowed hard and added, “I really appreciate it.” 

“Thank you for actually offering to help me find my brother,” I replied. “It really means a lot, especially since the actual police wouldn’t help...I have no clue what I’d be doing without you, except having more serious anxiety.” 

“I understand,” he said. While stopped at an intersection, he turned to face me with pale eyes and said, “I hope we find some answers for you today.” 

“Me too,” I said weakly. “I hope we find something to help you find your sister too.” 

Anders’ grin went grim as he began to drive again. 

“Unfortunately, if anything is left of my sister at this point, it’s probably just bones,” he remarked. He caught my sympathetic expression and brushed me off, saying, “No need to pity me. It’s my own fault...if I hadn’t been such a coward for so long, I would’ve been able to bring her home alive.” 

I mulled over what he had to say, unsure of how to reply. He had a point, but I didn’t know if I wanted to say that to him, for fear of seeming unsympathetic. He saw the unsureness in my eyes and waved his hand as if to wave it away. 

“No need to feel bad for me now,” he said. His eyes settled back on the road. “It’s my own damn fault...but I promise I’m going to do everything I can to help you find your brother. And then whatever I can to stop this from happening to anyone else.” 

“Thank you,” I responded smally. 

I didn’t know what else to say, nor did I think anything needed to be said anyways. Anders and I weren’t friends. We weren’t planning on becoming friends. We were two people who happened to find each other through shared tragedy, and he wanted to make sure I didn’t experience the full weight of his pain. I knew he genuinely felt guilty for letting his sister’s case go for so long. He carried it like an elephant on his back—painful and obnoxiously present. And I couldn’t help but to shake the feeling that there was that little, itty bitty part of him that still had some hope to find his sister out there today. 

Somehow, I ended up dozing off during the ride, only to have Anders shake me gently once we’d arrived at Helvetefönster. The car was parked on the side of the road before an enormous, looming forest, with no buildings in sight. The rain came down like bullets against the car and the ground and the sky was a large expanse of uninterrupted gray. I shivered simply looking at the conditions, but I forced myself out of the car, thankful for the umbrella Anders was holding out for me.

“Thanks,” I said, stepping out of the car. 

“You’re welcome,” he replied. 

He gestured for me to start following him into the thick of the forest, which I did. I was careful to keep close to him to stay under his umbrella as I slung my bag over my shoulders, trying to ignore the growing feeling in my gut that told me to sprint back to Linköping. There was something undeniably off about the place. I didn’t believe in all of the spiritual mumbo-jumbo that my mother did, but in this moment I felt it was safe to say that all of the death that had supposedly occurred here had left a strange, overwhelmingly heavy energy in the air. 

“Just so you are aware, I am armed,” Anders informed me, breaking the silence that was previously only interrupted by the rain. He patted his side, where a gun was securely holstered to his belt. “Only to be ready in case we do find something, or, rather, someone.” 

“Okay,” I said. 

Again, I didn’t know what else to say. Guns made me nervous. Yeah, I knew Anders had a reason for having it, and it was probably good that he did, but I didn’t exactly like it. 

“I’m not expecting to come across any living people who would pose a threat,” he said, seeing the apprehension on my face. “I only want to be prepared.” 

“Of course,” I nodded. I shivered, crossing my arms over my chest. “I get it.” 

We walked down the makeshift path a bit further, wet leaves crunching beneath our feet. Besides the rain and the sound of our footsteps, the woods were silent, eerily so. There were no birds or squirrels or any signs of life besides the trees and plants, and the heavy energy only got worse the further into the woods we walked. I was beginning to regret my decision. I wanted to find Matthew, but this didn’t feel like the way I would find him. I was starting to think that Anders brought me out here to kill me so no one would find my body. Maybe Nyquist had even sent him to quiet me, and he was a much better actor than I thought he was. 

“ _ Skit _ …,” Anders muttered under his breath. 

He skidded to a halt, causing me to stop dead in my tracks beside him. I had been watching my feet, but I looked up to see what it was that he was looking at, and I couldn’t believe it. It actually looked like we’d walked into some sort of ritual space, or at least the kind you’d see in a movie. The trees had been cleared, creating a perfectly round space, perhaps ten feet or so in diameter. There was a large tree stump directly in the middle of it all with a pentagram carved into the wood. The carving was deep, and clogged with a dark reddish-brown substance that the rain was washing out. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was blood and bits of flesh. The sight of it turned my stomach and I physically had to turn away, covering my hand with my mouth t prevent myself from vomiting. 

Invigored by what we’d stumbled upon, Anders shoved the umbrella into my hands and went for a closer look. I stood back and watched. Either the Swedish police were going to an extreme to pull the wool over my eyes, or Anders was actually right with his crazy Satanic cult theory. Then again, it didn’t really matter either way. I was thoroughly petrified, and I didn’t know what was scarier—the police going to such a length to throw me off my brother’s trail, or an actual Satanic cult in the middle of the rural Swedish woods. 

“Elizabeth, come here,” Anders beckoned from the other side of the stump. “I need your help.” 

“I don’t think…,” I said, fumbling over my words. I was lightheaded and nauseous, and at this point I really wanted to hop on a plane to go all the way back to Rochester. 

“Please,” he begged. He stood up straight, haggard and breathless and red-cheeked. “ _ Please. _ ” 

I gave in and joined him, seeing the thin stone slab the size of a coffin that was on the ground on the other side of the pentagram stump. Anders bent over and gestured for me to join him, wanting me to help him open it up. 

“Oh no,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t think we should….” 

“Don’t you want to find your brother?” he questioned. 

His tone was harsh, but I knew it was because of all of the emotions that were pumping through him, because they were the same that were coursing through my veins. He wanted to find his sister, and he felt he was almost there, and he didn’t want me to back out of it after coming all this way. I didn’t want to waste his time either, nor did I want to waste mine. I just had a feeling that if anything was down there that it was already dead, and I couldn’t bear to face my brother’s corpse if it happened to be there. 

“Yes,” I said. He looked to me expectantly, and I sighed, closing the umbrella, saying, “Okay, okay, let’s open it.” 

“Thank you.” 

With Anders on one side and me on the other, we coordinated our efforts and heaved the stone out of the way, revealing a pit in the ground and the most putrid scent I’d ever smelled before in my life. 

“Fuck, what is that?” I asked. 

I stepped back, reeling, even more lightheaded and nauseous than I was before. I was dizzy and everything was blurry and I really felt like I was going to lose what little food I’d managed to eat. 

Through my clouded vision, I saw Anders kneeling down beside the pit, a desperate expression on his face. He held a handkerchief over his mouth and nose to try to dull the odor as he peered down. 

“ _ För fan i helvete! _ ” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet once again. He kicked a nearby rock, sending it flying into the nearest tree. He shoved his disheveled hair out of his face as he began to pace, saying, “There’s got to be about ten bodies piled down in there, all rotting... _ fan,  _ I’m too late, I’m too fucking late…” 

Anders collapsed to the ground in a fit of frustration, punching the soggy ground as he began to sob, the smell of death and rot and decay growing stronger and more putrid by the second. My brain was overwhelmed by emotion and sensation and I couldn’t take it anymore. I staggered to the closest tree and grasped it as I feared I was going to pass out and fall over. I clung to the tree as I doubled over, preparing myself to vomit for real this time. And I did just that, but thankfully managed to miss my shoes. 

I stood back up, supporting myself against the tree as I wiped the remnants of my vomit away from my mouth. I still had the feeling of needing to vomit more. There wasn’t even a thing left in my stomach to vomit. 

The smell of rotting bodies grew stronger as I tried to make my way over to Anders. He was standing over the pit of bodies, pushing them around with a large stick he’d found, while still holding the handkerchief over his mouth and nose. The sound of the stick against the decaying body was sickening in and of itself, sounding like he was mixing soggy steak and bones around. I ducked my face away, unable to watch, plugging my nose and wishing I had another hand to cover both of my ears. 

Anders cussed again as the sounds of him sloshing around in the body pit finally ceased. I slowly turned to face him to see what he was doing. He’d hooked something on the end of the stick: a necklace. A thin gold chain with a little bird charm dangling off the end. Using his handkerchief, he snatched the necklace in his hand, wiping the blood and guts off it, and tossing the stick back into the trees. He examined the necklace for only a moment. 

“This was my sister’s.” 


	4. into the inferno

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so i'm putting my notes at the beginning again so i can give a little warning: this chapter mentions suicide/death/violence, so if any of that triggers you, skip around towards the end of the middle i guess? lmao that isn't really helpful, but y'know. just wanted to give that heads up before posting. 
> 
> and, as always, i wanna thank you guys for reading and an extra thank you to everyone who's been sweet enough to send kudos or comments. i really do love hearing from you! thanks again, and i hope you enjoy this chapter and the first bit of ~ghost~ stuff!

“ _ De bastarderna ljög för mig _ ,” Anders muttered. He kept repeating the same phrase over and over again, like I was supposed to suddenly know what the hell he was saying. “ _ De bastarderna ljög för mig. _ ” 

I felt like I was in a nightmare. One that was even more real and even more horrible than all of the others I’d experienced in my life. My nostrils were still clogged with death, my stomach muscles still writhed like I was going to puke again, and my head was spinning with everything I was trying to process. This had to be a bad dream, another nightmare, something other than reality, which I knew that it was. 

I followed Anders like a zombified puppy as he deftly wove his way through the forest, as if he’d known where to go all along. I didn’t really want to be following him. I didn’t want to know anything else about this goddamn forest or see another inch of it, but I didn’t have a clue how to get back to his car, and even if I did, it wasn’t like I was in a fit state to drive or even knew how to get to Linköping in the first place. I didn’t have a choice. I had to be following him, unless I wanted to end up back in the pit. 

My brain wasn’t in any sort of state to properly calculate time, but it felt like we kept walking for a goddamn eternity. The rain let up the further we trekked. I lost track of Anders, caught up in how quickly and totally the weather had changed. One instant it was downpouring, and now it was dry as dry could be—the trees and bushes looked like they hadn’t seen water in months and were starting to be bleached by the sun, which shone hideously bright overhead. The lush, damp forest floor was replaced by crunching sand and it was suddenly hot as hell, causing me to sweat almost instantaneously. My throat ached with thirst, rendering me unable to holler back to Anders, who was a good bit ahead of me and fed up with my slow pace. 

Suddenly, a set of hands grabbed at my shoulders, nearly startling me into a heart attack. The hands were frail but strong with desperation, yanking on me, accompanied by the sound of frantic, ragged breathing and more of that putrid smell that made my stomach lurch. I reluctantly glanced down to see that it was a woman who’d snagged me. She was my age, about, and dressed in nothing more than a dirty, tattered sack. Her eyes were mad with pain, tears streaming down her dirty face, her otherwise pale skin marked with sores, bruises, scabs and scars of all varieties. 

“ _ Please _ ,” she begged with the utmost desperation. She fell to her knees, her chest heaving with a sob as she began to cry, her whole body shaking as she looked up to me pathetically. “Please, please,  _ please,  _ you’ve gotta get me outta here, I’ve been here for—” 

A quick blow to the head with a large rock sent the woman keeling forward, unconscious, as blood seeped from the wound in the side of her skull. I shrieked and stepped back, allowing her to fall to the ground before me, unconscious. I looked up to see that it was Anders who had delivered the possibly fatal blow. He stood behind her, hair disheveled, his chest rising and falling dramatically with each breath he tried to catch. There was a dangerous glint in his eye, and I promptly remembered that he also happened to have a gun. 

_ Wonderful.  _

_ When did my life become a b-movie horror flick? And I have a feeling I’m not going to be the final girl in this one… _

“C’mon,” Anders urged, making a hand gesture to signal for me to keep following him. He seemed suddenly casual, as if there was absolutely nothing odd about what had just happened. “We have longer to go.” 

He stopped after taking a couple of steps, realizing I wasn’t following, but standing completely still and overwhelmed with bewilderment. 

“ _ Don’t  _ let them get to you again,” he said, pointing to the unconscious woman on the ground. “There’s going to be a lot more of them—don’t let them touch you, don’t make eye contact, just keep going and ignore them, alright?” 

I nodded vaguely, though subconsciously, and started following Anders again. It continued to get hotter, and aftera bit more walking, I would’ve thought that I was in the middle of the Sahara, not in the middle of Sweden. There was nothing but sand and the pale moon in the darkening sky, and I couldn’t see any remnants of the forest no matter how hard I looked behind us. 

A enormous, thundering sound caught my attention. My head snapped to the left to see that the source of the sound was the biggest tornado of dust and dirt that could possibly exist, and I stood there like a moron standing still as it came closer and closer, eager to devour me. 

“Cover your eyes!” Anders snapped, grabbing me by the wrist. “And hurry up!” 

I fought to keep up with Anders as my feet didn’t have much traction in the sand, using one arm to keep a hold on him, my other hand covering my eyes. I could feel the force of the storm coming closer, and the closer it came, the louder a new sound got: the sound of bone chilling screams. I turned for the briefest of moments and saw that the people were actually trapped  _ within _ the storm, swirling naked amongst the dust and dirt in absolute agony. 

“ _ Don’t look!”  _ Anders reminded me. 

He gave me a tug that made my head snap back to face forward, hard enough to give me whiplash. Just as soon as it all began, it was all over, and suddenly everything was very cold and slippery and frigid. I could see my breath in the last bits of light that shone in the sky, and I also saw something even more disturbing. Anders was guiding me along a narrow bridge of ice. On either side were expanses of slushy, icy, freezing water, filled with naked people, their skin and lips turning shades of people and blue. They swam pathetically through the frozen seas, halfheartedly trying to claw their way up onto the bridge with Anders and I, like they were just going through the motions of pretending to care about saving their own lives. One of them grabbed my foot and made me wince, but again, Anders forced me to keep up with him. 

We delved deeper and deeper through the forest, facing more and more atrocities of human suffering. I knew with every fibre of my being that this place was truly fucked. I couldn’t explain it, I couldn’t even say with certainty that it wasn’t all because of some stress-induced psychosis, but I knew in my bones that this place was fucking evil, whether it was real or all a figment of my fatigued imagination. 

However fake everything may have been, I still was facing it like it was all real. We passed through a barren field of people shoving gigantic weights and rocks against each other, forcing themselves to exist in a constant state of miserable exhaustion. The came a brutal fistfight on a bridge over a grimy river, in which people appeared to be drowning themselves. After that, rows of tombs that were burning with intense flames, the limbs of those trapped inside desperately trying to claw their way through the iron bars that kept them inside the infernos. Next, we were back in the forest, the bodies of suicide victims hanging from the trees or slumped against them, looking strangely alive but very obviously dead. Then there were groups of being being tortured in various ways too graphic to describe, all by masked figures accusing them of fraud and theft. 

And then, for a short time, we were back in the forest. My brain was running on empty trying to figure out what I just witnessed—real or fictional, imagined or induced. I didn’t have much time to contemplate, since Anders was still forcing me to keep up with him. I didn’t know how long we walked, seeing as my brain was unable to quantify any amount of time, but by the time we stopped my legs were aching and I was slightly short of breath. We had to at least done a couple of miles, or else I was even more out of shape than I thought. 

We’d come to another clearing, though this one was huge. I had to take a step back and do a second glance to take everything in. We were at the ‘ruins’ of the old abbey, but they’d been remodeled thoroughly and completely redone. It still looked like a Gothic stone abbey, but in perfect condition, perfectly kept, with sprawling gardens, spiraling towers, and massive additional wings growing off of each other. There were greenhouses in the back too, right on the edge of a small lake. I would’ve thought I stepped back in time to see the abbey in its prime, except the stained glass windows weren’t depicting scenes of Christ—they were depicting scenes of Hell, sinners burning amongst the flames and others rejoiced, dancing with demons through the chaos. And, above the grand mahogany doorway to the front of the abbey was a gigantic stained glass depiction of an inverted cross overlaid with a ‘G.’

I could’ve choked. I recognized that symbol from my brother’s t-shirts. It was the logo of the band Ghost. 

_ Holy shit...Anders might have been right...this looks like an  _ actual  _ Satanic abbey run by nutty Ghost fans… _

_ And everything I just saw in that fucking forest was  _ real...

“Hurry up!” Anders snapped, forcing me back to reality. 

I drew a breath before obeying, speed-walking over to Anders as he rounded the corner of the enormous building. I kept sneaking peeks up at it, much to Ander’s dismay, as he practically shoved me through a wooden door into a dim, narrow stairway, the round kind, which he pushed me up and up and up until we finally reached another doorway. It was like my mind was on autopilot—I wasn’t even thinking anymore, I was just doing whatever Anders pushed me into doing, and I was hoping and praying to the God I didn’t believe in that this would all make sense, that I wouldn’t get killed, and that maybe just maybe, that I’d leave here with Matthew alive and well. 

With a rough hand grasping my upper arm, Anders dragged me down the hall. The walls were made of stone, illuminated by scarcely placed lanterns that hung from posts between them, and only a thin, worn runner covered the center of the cool stone floor. It seemed that whoever renovated the place had paid special attention to make sure it looked as close to the original design as possible, except for the bits of Satanic imagery I kept catching glances of. I didn’t have any time to really look at any of it, though, since Anders continued to tug me along at an exhausting pace. 

At the end of one of the many long corridors, we arrived at a set of large, intricately carved mahogany doors, both embossed with the Ghost symbol. Anders, still holding me with an ironclad grip, kicked the doors open, revealing a cavernous, round room. The walls were lined with custom-built bookshelves filled with a myriad of old books. A chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, one that held candles and was made of wrought iron, with little gargoyle-like figures sitting on the ends. There were no windows, but there was another spiraling stone staircase towards the back of the room, leading up into the darkness. A black, crimson, and gold Persian rug covered the floor, and a large, empty desk sat in the middle of the room, opposite a couple of red leather arm chairs, with a mess of paperwork, a candelabra, and a fountain pen with an ink well atop of it. Behind the desk hung a tapestry, one that appeared to be as old as the building itself and appeared to be handmade, with the Ghost logo in the middle, surrounded by flames and sinners rejoicing in Hell. 

“Okay,  _ din jävel _ , the game’s up!” Anders screamed, voice echoing through the round room. “I brought you your new  _ slampa _ !”

I was thoroughly fucking confused now, not only because I didn’t understand all of Anders’ Swedish, but also because I didn’t understand what the fuck he was talking about. What  _ game _ ? Why did he know exactly how to get here, and exactly how to get to this room? Did he know these freaks? Was the whole story about his sister a lie? Was any of this true?  _ Was I losing my fucking mind?  _

“Ah, Mr. Borg, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” came a slick, accented voice from the stairs, accompanied by a set of light footsteps. It was a man, and I couldn’t quite place the accent, though I was sure it wasn’t Swedish—Italian, perhaps? “And, eh, for the record, I’d prefer it if you didn’t kick my doors. Those are Italian made, dating to the 16th century, and worth more than your life.” 

Four men came down the stairs. The man who had spoken was leading the charge and his appearance again made me question my sanity. He was middle-aged, more or less, perhaps a bit older. It was hard to tell, seeing as his entire face was caked in well-applied skull makeup, and his inky black hair was slicked back to perfection, keeping it out of the makeup. His eyes were two different colors—one a muted green-gray, the other a stark, jarring white. He wore an old fashioned suit, one that reminded me of the fashion of the 1920’s, with an embroidered and jeweled Ghost logo on the chest and white gloves on his hands. I vaguely remembered Matthew showing me a picture of the guy...Pope something, Papa something, I couldn’t quite remember. 

The three men who followed him were dressed in similar suits, though perhaps a bit differently styled and a bit less ornate. Two of them were very tall, one not so much, and they all wore masks to conceal their faces, masks with pointed chins, sharp noses, and small horns protruding from their foreheads. I had the wind knocked out of me when I realized that those were the same masks from my nightmare last night, and the fact that I had actually apparently walked into some sort of cult run by a fucking  _ band,  _ a band that was supposed to be for show.

I mean, I didn’t know a lot about Ghost. My brother got into them more as an adult, so I’d only seen a few pictures and heard maybe a couple of their songs, and I’d chalked it up to slightly corny theatrics, like most of the other music he liked. I never, ever fucking imagined that this was... _ real,  _ something I was having a hard time comprehending even now as I stared the reality of it in the face. 

“Ah,  _ passerotta _ **,** it’s lovely to finally have you home with us,” said the man in skull paint. He came forward with his arms open to hug me, as if I was supposed to accept that. “Come, give your  _ zio  _ a hug, eh?” 


	5. special

The man in the skull paint continued to come forward like he was going to hug me, but I cowered behind Anders, though I knew I couldn’t trust him for anything now. Nonetheless, Anders intervened, slapping the man right across the face, leaving a hand-shaped mark in his makeup. 

I couldn’t quite believe my eyes as I witnessed what happened next. The two taller guys in the horned masks were on either side of Anders faster than a blink of an eye, like they’d fucking teleported there. They expertly removed him from the man in the skull paint, who clicked his tongue chidingly at Anders as he spat and fought the men restraining him to no avail. I stood awkwardly on the edge of the room. I didn’t have a clue what was going on, nor did I really want to, so I was left to be an odd bystander to the odd situation. 

The skull painted man chuckled at Anders’ sudden violence, though he was otherwise unbothered and didn’t appear to be in any pain. 

“You hit hard for a Christian, you know that?” he remarked, amused. 

Anders said nothing, snarling like an animal as he fought his captors. 

“Ah, well, not in the mood to talk, I see,” commented the man in the skull paint. He perched himself atop the desk like a cat, crossing his legs elegantly as he watched Anders struggle with a bemused smirk on his heavily made up face. “You should know that there isn’t any point in fighting by now, Mr. Borg.” 

“You killed my fucking sister,” Anders spat. 

I held my breath. I wouldn’t doubt that at this point, but it still was the kind of statement that took your breath away when you heard it. 

“Oh,  _ that, _ ” sighed the man. His head fell for only a second before he perked back up and explained, “We did not...ah, hm...we did not  _ technically  _ kill her, you see...she wanted to prove herself by performing the ritual, and, eh, unfortunately things did not go as planned.” 

“You couldn’t have stopped her until I came along with this one?” Anders asked, jutting his chin towards me. “You couldn’t have tried to save her?” 

_ Was I supposed to be some sort of replacement for his sister? Like, was Anders supposed to give me to these freaks so I could have my intestines ripped out instead of her? _

“We do not force anyone to do anything here, Mr. Borg,” said the man, clasping his gloved hands delicately over his knee. “Your sister wanted to attempt the ritual. She knew the risks, and she unfortunately suffered them. There was nothing more we could do—”

“Nothing more my ass,” Anders interjected, seething. “ _ Din jävel—”  _

“Ghouls, please escort Mr. Borg from my office and take him somewhere where he can calm himself,” the man requested. 

The two ‘ghouls,’ nodded wordlessly. They carried Anders out of the room like two parents dragging a misbehaving toddler out of the supermarket, leaving me very alone and very vulnerable with the two strange men. 

“Finally that little twat is gone!” the man in the face paint announced, happily leaping from the desk. He sighed happily, staring at me from a slight distance, perhaps afraid to offend me with the offer of another hug. “You know, you didn’t turn out looking half as bad as I expected you to, being a child of my least attractive brother, the ugly  _ coglione _ …” 

Before anything else could be said, the shorter of the three masked men stepped forward into the candlelight, which flickered off his silver mask. He cleared his throat to announce that he was joining the conversation before saying anything. 

“Papa, perhaps you ought to, uh,  _ introduce  _ yourself to our guest, yes?” he suggested gently. Thus far, the way this guy spoke was the most normal, grounding thing I’d experienced since stepping foot in Sweden. 

‘Papa,’ looked confused for a moment, before realization sparkled in his heterochromatic eyes. 

“Oh, yes, yes, of course, silly me,” he chirped. He stepped closer to me again, making me flinch. Patiently, he waited for me to calm myself a bit before extending a hand, which I stupidly shook as he introduced himself. “I am Papa Emeritus III, current Pope of the Church of Sin, leader of the Clergy of the Unholy Ghost, and it is my pleasure to finally meet you and welcome you home to Helvetefönster.” 

I gulped, like it would rid me of all the nerves and awful emotions that were coursing through my veins. 

Very stupidly, I asked the only thing I could think of, and questioned, “Are you...a-aren’t you...a-a-aren’t you, like, the singer for the band Ghost?” 

This stupid, poorly spoken question of mine caused Papa to erupt into a fit of laughter. 

“Yes,  _ cara,  _ I am,” he confirmed. I thought that would clear things up for me, but I quickly realized that only sparked a million other questions that I didn’t know how to ask. “But leading rituals to recruits and fans is only a part of my many duties here at the Church...I oversee everything here, and lead every black mass. I am the leader of our lovely little Satanic abbey here, which I hope you decide to join.” 

I almost vomited again, all over the expensive Persian rug that was, no doubt, worth more than my entire life. 

“In time,” piped up the masked man, in an attempt to soothe me as he noticed my distress. He eyed Papa, as if to tell him to keep quiet for a second as he went on. “We understand that this is all very new and scary, Elizabeth, but we don’t want to hurt you or cause you any harm. And yes, our method of getting you here was a bit unorthodox, sure, but it was all with, uh... _ decent  _ intention...well, we surely didn’t want you to have to experience the Nine Circles, but Borg moved too fast with that one…” 

I said nothing, but took the liberty of collapsing back into one of the plush leather armchairs, too exhausted to stand anymore. I stared blankly at a random spot in the wall, waiting for this all to come crashing down around me and to wake up back in my apartment of Rochester, even though I was painfully aware that none of that was going to happen now. 

“What the fuck is happening?” I questioned desperately. The tears started coming again. I didn’t want them to—I didn’t want the people holding me hostage to know that I was any weaker than they already knew me to be, but I couldn’t contain myself. “What is this? Where’s my brother?” 

The questions kept spilling from my lips as I sobbed into the heels of my hands, overwhelmed and exhausted and confused. I didn’t have any energy left spiritually, emotionally, or physically, and if these guys were gonna kill me, then I wanted them to do it now and get my fucked up life over with once and for all. 

“Here.” 

I glanced up through my tears and snot to see a crisp handkerchief being offered to me from the masked man. He was closer now, crouching down before me, a hand hesitantly reaching for my knee and then pulling back. 

“Thank you,” I sniffled. 

I accepted the handkerchief. I needed it, and it was probably in my best interest to go along with these guys. Like I said, from what I knew about hostage situations from daytime crime dramas, it was best for me to play along and try to survive rather than getting too cocky and trying to fight my way out of this place. 

“You’re welcome,” he assured me. “I hope you feel a little better, now that you’ve at least cleaned your face up.” 

He watched me intently as I wiped my eyes and cleaned my nose, and then took the handkerchief back, not at all grossed out by all the snot and tears that it was soaked with. In his hand, it disappeared into thin air. I blinked. By now, I guess I was just expecting magic to be real too after everything else I’d witnessed. For the briefest of moments, I made eye contact with the masked man, catching the smallest of glimpses of the green eyes that continued to watch my every little move from behind the mask. 

I shivered, forcing my eyes down to my hands. I knew those green eyes from somewhere. 

_ The nightmare.  _

Once more, the masked man cleared his throat and rose to his feet promptly. 

“Papa, I think that is probably enough for Elizabeth for now,” he announced. “I’m sure that she’s exhausted and could use with a good night’s rest in her chamber...would you mind postponing all of the initial formalities until the morning, when she’s rested?” 

“Yes, of course, that’ll be fine,” Papa agreed. “You may escort her there, Special.” 

_ Special? What kind of name was that? _

“What about my brother?” I blurted out. “Is he alive?” 

“Yes,  _ cara,  _ Matthew is alive and well,” Papa told me. “He has decided to join the Clergy and has spent the last month studying with the Cardinal...I am sure a reunion can be arranged for tomorrow, once you’ve recovered a bit.” 

“O-okay,” I agreed meekly. I was still trying to play the polite and agreeable game. 

“Alright, then, Elizabeth, if you’d follow me,” Special interjected. “I’ll show you to your room.” 

I reached out to take the hand he offered to help me out of the chair, but immediately pulled away from his touch. The guy was as hot as the coils on the electric stove back at home, and I was sure I’d burned myself by touching him. I winced, causing him to wince in turn, and hastily tuck his arms behind his back. I flipped my palm and saw no mark whatsoever, the pain rapidly fading into nothing, and then a lingering, dull buzz, kind of what it feels like to lose circulation, but somehow...more... _ pleasurable _ ?

I swallowed down the weird emotions that bubbled in my belly, making myself stand up to follow Special towards the doors. 

“Goodnight, Elizabeth,” Papa bid with a slight wave. “Enjoy your first night at Helvetefönster.” 

I said nothing, as I didn’t know what to say. I gave a tiny, forced grin, and then followed Special out into the hallway, wondering when this nightmare would come to a fucking end. 

“Again, I must apologize for your experience earlier in the Nine Circles,” Special said. He was walking slowly, taking care not to push my pace in my exhausted state. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.” 

“The Nine Circles…?” I repeated. 

“All of those scenes of horror you experienced,” he explained. He held a door open for me, leading into another winding stone corridor. “We call them the Nine Circles, each containing its own scene of horror and sin. We stole the idea from Dante—Dante’s  _ Inferno,  _ you know—as a means of keeping people outside of the Church as far away from here as possible. It was never meant to terrorize you, or, uh, people like you, y’know, the people we actually want coming here.” 

“You wanted me here?” I inquired, dazed and confused. 

“Very much so,” Special nodded. He walked languidly by my side, arms kept behind his back. He navigated the twisting halls with no effort whatsoever, able to steal glances at me every few paces, having to look up a bit to look at my face. “You are...very  _ special,  _ Elizabeth.” 

I laughed coarsely. 

“Isn’t that supposed to be your name?” 

We were both momentarily shocked by my joke. I didn’t think I was in the mood to joke, and he certainly didn’t either. Still, he managed to laugh, and even I laughed along a little. 

“Good one,” he kidded dryly. “But yes, you can call me Special.” 

“Is that your real name?” I asked, genuinely curious. 

“No,” he answered. “My real name is, eh...confidential information.” 

_ Whatever that means. _

We came to the top of another winding, round staircase that led to a narrow landing before another mahogany door. With the flick of a wrist, Special caused the door to open and gesticulated for me to enter, which I did, completely unbothered by another demonstration of magic. Inside, the room was dark, leaving me unable to see anything until Special stepped in behind me and caused all of the candles, lanterns, and candelabras to be lit instantaneously on their own. Now that I could see the room, I could see that it was just as ridiculously ornate as Papa’s office had been. Everything was ebony, crimson and gold, and was quite clearly unfathomably expensive and probably centuries old as well. The door to the adjoining bathroom was open, revealing the bathroom to be all marble and beautiful. 

“I hope the room meets your standards,” Special said. He sounded nervous, like all of this  _ wouldn’t  _ be enough. “We can have things adjusted tomorrow, but for now it should be comfortable to sleep in.” 

“Uh, okay,” I muttered. 

I couldn’t believe I was actually feeling comfortable enough to sleep here. Then again, maybe if I fell asleep I’d wake up back in Rochester and this would all be over. 

“How about I run you a bath?” Special suggested. Immediately hearing how that could be taken, he rubbed the pointed chin of his mask before adding, “No ulterior motives or anything there, I just figured it would be nice to help you relax.” 

“Uh, o-okay, I guess,” I agreed. 

A bath  _ did _ sound nice, and it was in my best interest to play along, so…

“Wonderful,” he said. “I’ll run that for you; I’ll be right back.” 

Awkwardly, I nodded and took a seat on the edge of the wonderfully comfortable bed, watching Special fill the massive marble bathtub out of the corner of my eye. He opened the closet beside the tub, carefully selecting three little bottles, adding whatever was inside of them to the steaming water. After putting the bottles back, he dipped a hand into the water to make sure it was perfect before returning to me. 

“It’s all set for you,” he said. “There’s a robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, and any of the clothes in the closet and dresser are for you to wear.” 

“Okay,” I repeated. “Thank you.” 

“You’re more than welcome,” Special replied. He started for the door, then paused, clasping his hands in front of him. “Is there anything else I can do for you? Anything you need before bed?” 

“No, I don’t think so,” I said. I was shocked by the normalcy of this, at least compared to everything else I’d been through during the past month of my life. “I think I’m all set. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” he said again. He ducked into a fast bow, opening the door, but stopping one more time before going. “That cord on the wall there—see it?” 

I nodded, following his finger to see the gold rope hanging from the corner of the ceiling. 

“Just pull that if you need anything,” he said. “And someone will be here to help you as soon as possible.” 

“Okay,” I said yet again. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome. Good night, Elizabeth.” 

“Good night.” 

With that, I was alone in the room. It was much more suited to Queen Elizabeth I than it was to me, but that was fine. 

I sighed, dropping my bag by the bed, and headed into the bathroom. Whatever Special had put into the bath smelled delicious—lavender, lemon, and a bit of something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but delicious nonetheless. I stripped out of my sweat and rain soaked clothing, tossing it all into a pile near the toilet, and carefully lowered myself into the steaming water. Immediately, my muscles relaxed from the warmth and the bath mixture, and I made myself comfortable against the marble, which seemed as if it was molding itself to perfectly fit my body. I washed myself, my face, and my hair, and relaxed in there for quite some time, feeling ten thousand times better by the time I emptied the water and got out. 

The towels left for me were as soft as could be, and I tried off before slipping into the robe than hung on the back of the door. I brushed my teeth and combed my hair with the Victorian-style silver comb left beside the sink, leaving my untangled shoulder-length locks down to air dry for the rest of the night. I stared myself down in the mirror once it was clear enough for me to do so. I was so average looking it hurt: plain brown eyes, plain brown hair that wasn’t quite straight but far from curly, lips that were neither too full nor too thin, a boring nose, short eyelashes, and a slight gap between my front teeth. I was taller for a girl at 5’11, tall, but not tall enough to be good at basketball or anything, with gangly arms and legs and a bit of dough around my tummy that I could never get off. I tried adding a slim silver septum ring to my nose to spice up my face, but it did little, if anything at all. I was the epitome of average, not at all the kind of girl a Satanic church in Sweden would be interested in. 

And yet they were, and I was here, indefinitely trapped, and hoping that they weren’t lying to me about being able to see my brother in the morning. 

I managed to keep myself from crying at the thought of him. I returned to the bedroom, ditching the bath robe for a knee length cotton nightgown that was the softest article of clothing that I’d ever worn. I blew out the candles as I curled myself in the lavish silk sheets atop the plush bed, ready for a good night’s sleep, and fruitlessly hoping and praying this would all be over by the time I woke up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY, i am sorry for the long time (in my opinion) since the last update. things have been a lil crazy with my new job, so updates might be slower than i was expecting since getting out of school for the summer. also having a little writer's block, but that's nothing new, and that's not going to stop me, at least for now. i'm really enjoying writing this fic and hopefully with a little time i'll get the kinks sorted out in my brain. 
> 
> as always, i gotta thank you guys. you've been so sweet and supportive and i really appreciate it, even for a silly lil ghost fic. it gives me hope that someday people will read my original work lmao. 
> 
> also i'm dying to hear what you guys think of this chapter since it's the most ~ghosty~ so far and finally features special! lemme know your thoughts down below, and any, er, theories you may have and i'll do my best to get back to you! that being said, thanks again, and i'll see you next time!


	6. reunited

I woke to the smell of coffee. Strong, delicious smelling coffee. I roused from my sleep and rubbed my eyes with closed fists, stretching out from head to toe before opening my eyes. For one, blissful moment I’d managed to forget about everything. For one, blissful moment I thought I was back home in Rochester and my friend Maggie had snuck into my apartment to make coffee before going into work. Her coffee machine broke months ago and it was cheaper for her to use mine rather than buy a new one. I quite liked the routine we’d gotten into, with her coming over before work to make coffee. She’d make enough for me, and if I was lucky, she’d repay me with a homemade muffin. 

But this wasn’t home and it wasn’t Maggie who had brought me coffee. No, it was a short, stout woman in another black suit, wearing another one of those weird horned silver masks, though this one, weirdly enough, somehow looked more feminine. She had a silver tray with a cup of coffee and an enormous plate of strawberry-topped pancakes, which she sat on the dresser by the window. I sat up and clutched my chest. My heart was racing. Were these people trying to  _ scare _ me to death, sneaking up on me like this? 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you!” the strange woman apologized. Her voice was much sweeter-sounding than I’d anticipated, and too genuine sounding for my liking. She came forward and extended a small hand to me, saying, “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Elizabeth, my name is Cumulus.” 

_ Special? Cumulus? What the fuck kinds of cult names are these?  _

“Uh, thanks,” I replied. I was still coming back into consciousness and recalling what a fucking bizarre situation I’d gotten myself into, and didn’t quite know what else to say. “Can I...do I get to see my brother?” 

“Later,” she promised. She transferred the tray of delicious looking and smelling breakfast foods to my lap, nearly causing me to drool all over myself. “First you should eat, relax a little, and get dressed.” 

“But—”

I was promised that I would get to see my brother today. What was this breakfast in bed bullshit? 

“You’ll see your brother,” she promised me. Strangely, I could picture a kind smile behind her mask. “He’s not leaving here anytime soon, and neither are you. So relax and enjoy your breakfast. I know pancakes and strawberries are your favorite.” 

She saw the question forming on my lips, and before I could even ask, she said, “Your brother told us that.” 

_ Fuck,  _ I thought.  _ So he really is here. _

“Once you’re finished eating, you’re free to take a shower and freshen up in the bathroom, and use whatever you need,” she told me. “And the closet and dresser are full of clothes that you can wear. When you’re all set, come down the stairs outside your room, and we can begin your day.” 

“And I can see my brother?” 

I felt like a broken record. But seeing my brother was the whole point of this fucked up nightmare, wasn’t it? 

She chuckled lighting. “Of course.” 

With that, she left me, closing the door behind her. I hadn’t even thought about eating in hours and hours, but now with the food—my absolute  _ favorite  _ breakfast foods—before me, I was suddenly ravished. I devoured the pancakes, strawberries, and coffee in record time, remembering why it was my favorite breakfast combo. It was so good that I almost forgot about everything else that had happened in my life. I didn’t want to be enjoying the food as much as I was because I didn’t trust it, but fuck, it was far too goddamn good to pass up and my body actually needed nourishment. I’d been through too much in the past twenty four hours and I hadn’t eaten in at least as long. I was starving. 

Unsure of what to do with my dirty dishes, I left them on the dresser where “Cumulus,” had originally set them, with a sudden rush of energy from the coffee. I freshened up in the bathroom, surprised to find the same kinds of toothpaste, deodorant, and dry shampoo that I had at home in there waiting for me.  _ Fuck.  _ Either these people were expert stalkers or Matthew paid more attention to me than I thought he did and had spilled it all to these Satanic freaks. 

Freshened up, and with my hair hastily pulled out of my face, I went back into the bedroom and rifled through all of the clothes they prepared for me. Everything was black, of-fucking-course, so it didn’t take too long for me to pick something out to wear—black jeans and a black sweater, with the boots I’d come here with. The clothes were pretty damn comfortable, but I had to say that it was kind of weird to put on underwear and a bra that someone else had given me. Just...weird. 

I practically threw the door open now that I was ready, hoping to the God that I didn’t believe in that my brother really would be at the bottom of the twisting stone staircase. I had no real reason to believe that these Satanists had been telling me the truth, but I still had that strange bit of hope that made my belly do backflips and my heart leap up into my throat. 

“Ellie!” 

As soon as my feet landed at the bottom of the stairs, I was engulfed in a warm, familiar hug. 

_ Matthew.  _

I couldn’t contain myself. Tears sprang from my eyes like water from a broken pipe, soaking through the thin black robe-like garment that my brother was wearing. I hugged him tight, so tight that I felt like I was practically squeezing his guts out, scared that he was going to evaporate from my grasp and reveal that this was another nightmare rather than reality. 

“Fuck, El, you’re hurting me,” he mumbled, trying to wriggle from my grasp. I didn’t let him go. He tapped my back, begging for mercy as he said, “Okay, okay, seriously, I’m happy to see you too but that’s enough.” 

I released him finally, wiping my tears on the sleeve of my sweater. I held him by the shoulders, looking him over, making sure that he was real and that my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me, or that the Satanists weren’t playing tricks on me. Matthew was just as real as ever—brown eyes like mine, goofy grin, lanky build, and brown hair, which no longer held any black dye. He looked a little tired maybe, but otherwise healthy, happy, and in good spirits. 

Unable to contain myself, I slapped him clean across the face. The sound reverberated off the aged stone walls like a crack of thunder. He clutched his cheek in shock and pain as the welt grew on his pale skin, staring at me in complete disbelief. 

“What the fuck was that for?” he questioned incredulously. 

“You’re alive and well in a goddamn Swedish Satanic cult and you couldn’t even  _ call  _ Mom and I?” I asked in an accusatory tone. 

I was overwhelmed with joy to know that my brother was in fact alive, but now that I knew that, I was totally and completely pissed that he had apparently gone missing by choice. All of this insane, nightmarish shit could’ve been avoided if he had just called Mom and I to say, “Hey, I joined a Satanic cult in Sweden, but I’m perfectly fine and happy and will be contacting you regularly!” I mean, neither of us would’ve been surprised. It was the exact kind of thing my brother would do now that I was really thinking about it, and if he had just fucking  _ called,  _ I would’ve have had to gone through any of this. 

“I’m sorry,” Matthew apologized. “I know I scared the shit out of you and Mom, but I couldn’t call you. I wasn’t allowed to call you.” 

“You weren’t  _ allowed _ to call me?” I repeated. I was still pissed, but I was also increasingly confused. If he was alive and well and allowed to see me, why couldn’t he call me? 

“No,” he answered. He pondered over his words for a moment before saying, “None of us are really allowed to have much contact with the outside world, actually...and, well, there’s not a lot of modern technology around here. Just radios and record players and computers in the library, but that’s it. I mean, I guess it would’ve been okay for me to call Mom, but I know she would’ve told you, and you weren’t supposed to know that I was here.” 

Again, his explanation only made me more confused. 

“What?” I asked. “How come you could tell Mom and not me?” 

“Because Mom would’ve told you, and then you wouldn’t have come here to find me,” Matthew said, like that was supposed to make sense somehow. “And they wanted you here.” 

“ _ They _ …?” 

“The Church,” he supplied. He took a deep breath before launching into another explanation, telling me, “I...I’m not supposed to be the one to tell you all of this, but basically, long story short is that the Church recruited me so that they could get to you. You remember when I went to the Ghost show about a month ago, right?” 

I nodded, prompting him to go on. 

“Well, that’s where they recruited me,” he said. He didn’t bother explaining that; I guess I was just supposed to know what it meant. “They knew I was your brother, and they offered me a place in the Church if I helped them get you here, and I couldn’t pass that up. You know how much Ghost means to me, El, and you know that I’ve always felt out of place...but here, I don’t. This is where I was meant to be, living with the Church and all of the Brothers and Sisters of Sin, and you’re meant to be here too. How cool is that?” 

“ _ Cool? _ ” I practically spat. “What the fuck is going on, Matt? You’re not making any goddamn sense! None of this makes any fucking sense! Are you seriously going to sell me out to these fucking freaks just so they can disembowl me or something? You’re gonna let these people kill me just so you can hang out with your favorite band?” 

Matthew shook his head, seeming offended by what I’d said. 

“It’s so,  _ so _ much more than that, Ellie,” he said in a low voice. “I know you don’t understand right now, but Satan has—” 

Matthew was interrupted by a roaring crack of thunder that shook the entire aged building, causing me to instinctively curl over to protect myself. The thunder rumbled again against the stone walls, rain rattling against the dark stained glass windows. It was like nature itself was telling Matthew to shut up. Maybe he really was saying more than he was supposed to... _ or maybe I was seriously losing my goddamn mind.  _

“I heard shouting, is everything alright?” came a new, but familiar voice: Special. 

“Woah,” Matthew muttered under his breath. He ducked into a quick, hurried bow at the sight of the strange little man, as if he was in the presence of a king or something. 

“I...I don’t know,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say. I felt tears burning behind my eyes again, filled with every emotion possible: rage, confusion, joy, and sadness. I didn’t know if I’d ever go back to feeling normal. I looked between Matthew’s face and the face behind the mask, not knowing who to look to or who to trust or what to say. “I’m just so fucking confused…” 

“Perfectly understandable, Elizabeth,” Special assured me. He stepped forward and reached up to set a hand on my shoulder, which, bizarrely, made me feel better and not worse. His touch didn’t linger long, as he quickly tucked both of his hands behind his back and cleared his throat, saying, “Well, Papa and Sister Imperator are ready for you, and I think that they’ll probably have some answers for you as well. Do you want your brother to come with you?” 

I didn’t want to see Papa again, and I had no clue who or what Sister Imperator was, but if I was going to get answers, I guess I had to go, and if I had to go, then I wanted my brother with me. I didn’t want to let him out of my sight now that we were back together, and I wanted to try to push some answers out of him. 

“Yes,” I nodded. 

“Then follow me,” Special said, gesturing for us to go along as he turned around. 

I tagged along after him, Matthew leaping to catch up with me to walk by my side. He was watching Special with awe and admiration, like Satan himself had just manifested before us. I gave him a bit of an incredulous look. What was so  _ special  _ about this one little masked freak? The fact that he could apparently make tissues disappear? 

After navigating the winding stone hallways, we came to the same set of mahogany doors that I had seen last night. I knew that the doors led to Papa’s “office,” or whatever it was called, and as we arrived, Special raised one finger and indicated for us to wait before silently slipping inside the room, leaving Matthew and I alone for a moment. 

“You know Special?!” he asked in an overexcited whisper. He was acting like a preteen girl who had just found out that I knew a member of One Direction or something. 

“I...no?” I answered. “I mean, I met him for like five minutes last night, but—” 

“Wow,” Matthew breathed, wide-eyed. “I’ve been here for a month and I’ve never even  _ seen _ Special...he’s, like, head ghoul. He doesn’t really socialize with us brothers and sisters...if he’s around you, that must mean you’re the one.” 

I raised a brow, exhausted from being so behind on everything. “The one what?” 

He met me dead in the eyes. He smiled, but his smile sent a shiver down my spine as thunder shook the building again. 

“The Ghuleh.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY wow i am back! sorry for taking almost a month to update, but to be honest, things have been a bit hectic. i've been getting settled into my new job, and, well, i had a lot of writer's block around this fic as well as focusing my writing time towards working on my original novel (which has literally nothing to do with ghost, obviously) as well as my poetry. 
> 
> but i had a recent moment of inspiration and finally finished chapter six! not the most exciting, but we finally got to meet matthew and we're finally getting set up to figure out what's going on! 
> 
> thank you guys for being so supportive and sweet. i'm sorry if i disappointed anyone with the long time between chapters. i hope it doesn't happen again, but i can't promise anything :-( life tends to get in the way, y'know? please let me know what you think down in the comments and i'll do my best to get back to you! as always, i appreciate it, you guys are the best. see you next time or in the comments, and thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!


	7. elizabeth

“What the everloving _fuck_ does that—?”

My emphatic question was interrupted by the doors swinging open once again, causing me to jump and clutch at my chest. Matthew, however, was unphased. He was like a horse chomping at the bit to get into that room. I felt quite the opposite.

“C’mon in,” Special said, gesturing for us to go inside.

Matthew didn't need to be told twice. He ran in like a kid running to check out their presents on Christmas morning, while Special had to coax me inside, seeing as I wasn't so sure about all of this.

Once we were in the office, the doors closed on their own. My first thought was that it was another act of magic, but to keep what little sanity I had left, I told myself that it was an automatic door, run by electricity or whatever, which, unlike magic, was definitely real. The idea of magic quickly left my brain as I hesitantly took a seat in one of the cushioned leather armchairs before Papa's impressive desk, which he was sitting behind, gloved hands folded atop the dark wood. To his side stood an older woman with severe, sharp features. Her long gray hair was confined to a tight braid down her back and she wore a simple outfit: black pencil skirt, grayish stockings, plain black flats, a white blouse beneath a black suit jacket, with a Ghost logo pin affixed to chest pocket. Her light eyes watched me with suspicion and intrigue and definitely some judgement as well. My stomach lurched. There was something awfully unsettling about the way she was looking at me. And Papa...well, I didn't even want to look at him. The skull makeup still freaked me the fuck out.

"Good morning, _passerotta,_ " he greeted me. "Did your first night at the abbey treat you well? Did you sleep alright?"

"I...uh, yeah, yes, I slept well," I answered meekly.

To be honest, I had slept pretty well. I hated that I had slept so well, but I did, so I said it. Plus, I figured it was good to stay on these people's good sides if I wanted to stay alive, especially because my brother had totally drank the Kool Aid and probably would aid in my murder if he had to.

"Good, good," he nodded. "I'm glad to hear that."

The older woman cleared her throat rather loudly, prompting Papa to raise a finger as he evidently remember what he was supposed to say.

"Ah, yes, Elizabeth, I would like for you to meet Sister Imperator," he said, gesturing to her. _Another weird ass fucking cult name._ "She has served our Dark Lord for the majority of her life and is in charge of a great deal here at the abbey."

"Pleasure to meet you," Sister Imperator said. She extended a cool hand that I reluctantly shook, a half-smile forming on her aged face. Upon releasing my hand, she looked to Papa and said, "I do hope that she's the one. Out of all of them, she seems the most promising. She's the only one who's managed to stop crying."

"Am I ever going to be told what's going on here?" I pleaded desperately. As all of the eyes in the room snapped to me, I realized that it might not have been the smartest to pose the question so bluntly, but to be frank, I didn't know if I cared anymore. "I mean, if I'm going to be sacrificed to Satan here, can't I at least know why?"

Papa laughed, causing Sister Imperator and Matthew to follow along and chuckle themselves. Matthew was standing behind me, presenting me to the wolves, and I was none the wiser. I looked to Special, the only one not laughing, hoping for some sympathy or perhaps an answer, but he quickly diverted his eyes to stare off somewhere in the direction of Papa's desk.

"No one is going to be sacrificing you," Papa told me. It did little to ease my worry. "You are far too important to be sacrificed."

Seeing the question about to leap from my lips, Special interjected, "Maybe you should _explain_ why that is, Papa...she's the only one who's ever actually wanted to know. I think she deserves to know the story of why she's here."

"Of course, of course," Papa nodded. He cleared his throat and said, "Then I'll tell you the story, from the beginning, if you'd be so kind to listen, Elizabeth…"

I nodded. It wasn't like I really had much of a choice.

Papa cleared his throat, and began to tell the tale.

_"Long ago, a woman named Elizabeth Bathory was born on All Hallow's Eve in 1560 in a small Hungarian village to a noble family. Her father was a baron and her mother was distantly related to a Polish king, meaning Elizabeth's life was very lavish, though she often felt very empty._

_At the age of fifteen, Elizabeth married Count Ferenc Nádasdy, and though their marriage was arranged, they eventually fell passionately in love. Her wedding gift from her new husband was an enormous, beautiful castle that she had full power and reign over, as he was often away studying or fighting in wars. The couple had a happy marriage and five children—Paul, Anna, Ursula, Katherine, and Miklós, the baby. Elizabeth loved her husband and all of her children, but it was with her youngest that she had the strongest bond. He was the only one who she bothered to look after rather than sending to a governness, and she proclaimed from the moment that he was born that they had a God-given bond. With her husband, her home, and her children, Elizabeth had finally found her place in the world: to be a wife and a mother and a Countess._

_However, after twenty nine years of marriage, Ferenc died after battling a long illness that took his ability to walk. Elizabeth was absolutely heartbroken. She had lost her husband. All of her children were out of the house and married, except for little Miklós. Once again, she felt alone, her enormous home feeling hollow instead of filled with love._

_Elizabeth was convinced that everything would be perfect again if only her husband was back with her. She prayed to God to send him back to her, or to kill her too so that they could be together, but, of course, God did not respond. Growing desperate, Elizabeth turned to a darker, more tangible power: Satan._

_She began sacrificing her young maids to Lucifer, trying to exchange their lives for the life or her husband, or to bribe him into bringing her husband back from the dead. However, Elizabeth soon realized that she was meant to be called to the dark side. She enjoyed killing. She enjoyed the torture and and the evil and the power, a kind of power she’d never felt before in her life. Satan noticed her enthusiastic, willing devotion to Him, and in return, he granted her the powers she so desired._

_But by then, Elizabeth had lost sight of her original goals. She no longer cared to bring her husband back, but rather wanted to kill as many young women as she could to grow her powers as well as to further prove her increasing devotion to Satan. She began performing blood rituals—the ones that would later become famous—bathing in tubs full of the blood of her victims to increase her power. Of course, sexist history revisions said this was to keep her youth about her, but truly it was to grow more powerful and show her love for Satan._

_Elizabeth quickly became the most powerful witch in the entire world. With this power, she finally decided to attempt to bring back her beloved Ferenc, the act she had so intensely desired at the beginning of her dark journey. But necromancy is an enormous feat, one that takes tremendous ability and power, and can often distrupt the fabric of the universe. Satan offered Elizabeth a deal to bring her husband back: if he could have the souls of all of her descendants to serve him until the end of time, then she could have Ferenc. Elizabeth accepted the deal. It seemed easy enough. But she didn’t realize that Satan would only grant her the_ ability _to bring Ferenc back, not the actual know-how, nor the guarantee that her attempts would work._

 _She also didn’t realize Satan’s own reasoning for allowing this. Long ago, in the age when the Bible was still being written by the hands of men, it was prophecized that Satan’s one and only child, the Antichrist, would be born to a witch with the power to control the forces of life and death, who could reverse death itself. If Elizabeth managed to bring Ferenc back, then it would prove to Satan that her bloodline carried this ability, and therefore would produce the woman who could carry his child. You see, Satan didn’t_ turn _Elizabeth into a witch. Witches are born, not made, and all Satan did was grant her enhanced abilities in return for her devotion and her eternal soul._

_But Elizabeth knew none of Satan’s ulterior motives, so she went about her business, and ultimately did bring her husband back from the dead with the blood of six sacrificed virgins. Satan was overjoyed. This proved to him that the Bathorys would eventually produce the woman he needed in order to have the Antichrist._

_Soon after raising Ferenc from the dead, Elizabeth began attracting suspicion from the townspeople, who eventually called in other nobles to investigate. Satan allowed them to capture her, as he wanted to see the extent of her powers. The prophecy didn’t just say that the mother of the Antichrist would have to be able to raise the dead. It also said that she would bring herself back from the dead, leaving her soul behind, as nothing with a soul could beget such evil into the world._

_Elizabeth refused to even attempt raise herself from the dead, saying she would rather stay dead alongside Ferenc, who was once again killed by her side. Perhaps she was too afraid, or perhaps her statement was genuine, we will never truly know. Satan was frustrated, but he refused to give up. He still had the soul of Elizabeth’s youngest son, Miklós, who he used to start a church in his honor: the first incarnation of the Church of Sin. He made Miklós the Pope of said church, a place that allowed sinners to rejoice in debauchery of all sorts, so long as they devoted themselves entirely to his infernal majesty. Through the Church, Satan would have a group of devoted followers, as well as the ability to track the Bathory bloodline until the Ghuleh—the witch who could raise herself from the dead—finally manifested herself and fulfilled the prophecy set in motion long ago."_

Papa let out a long, exhausted sigh as he finished his long-winded story. He leaned back into his chair, relaxing as he crossed his leg over his knee, and looked to me expectantly as he said, “Do you see? Do you understand now?”

“Uh, not exactly,” I answered half-honestly. Again, all that did was raise more questions, the first of which was, _Do you people really fucking believe in a_ real _Satan?_

“You are the last qualified descendant of Elizabeth Bathory,” Papa supplied. “The last person who is eligible to face the tests set for the Ghuleh. If you pass these tests, then Satan will choose you to carry his infernal child.”

I laughed. I laughed the loudest, most obnoxious laughter, the kind that brought tears to my eyes. I couldn't believe these fucking people. They all thought that this was fucking _real?_ They really thought I was related to the much-fictionalized Elizabeth Bathory, that I was a witch, and that I was supposed to give birth to the goddamn Antichrist? Had I just materialized in an episode of _American Horror Story,_ or was this seriously what my life had devolved into?

Papa and Sister Imperator waited patiently for me to quit laughing. Matthew was the only one who seemed bothered by it. He actually seemed rather offended that I dared to laugh at this.

God, he'd had way too much Kool Aid.

“You can't be serious,” was all I could muster to say. I looked around the room, waiting for someone to crack a smile and admit this was all one terrifyingly elaborate hoax, but no such grins were cracked. “This can't be real.”

“It is very real,” Sister Imperator said all too seriously. “You are the last living female descendant of Elizabeth Bathory. All the rest either haven’t carried the gene for witchcraft, or have died attempting to pass the tests necessary to fulfill the prophecy.”

My eyes flickered around the room, once again trying to find any last trace of sanity or normalcy in this fucking place.

“But I...I-I can’t be,” I stammered. “I mean, if that’s all true, then I’d have to be related to you,” I paused, gesturing to Papa. “And I’m—”

“Oh, but you are, _passerotta,_ ” Papa said, cracking a grin, but not the kind I wanted to see. “Your father is my elder brother, Papa Emeritus I. Don’t you recall the man who you thought was your father leaving your family when he found out that you weren’t his? Didn’t your mother tell you that your true father was an older man passing through New York City on business? And that he was Italian?”

My stomach dropped.

That was all true. _How the fuck did he know that?_ This insanity couldn’t all be true, could it? I couldn’t be _related_ to these nutcases. I couldn’t be.

I needed to get the fuck out of here.

“You people are fucking insane,” I burst, hopping up from my seat. “This is all fucking insane, I can’t...I need to get the fuck out of here…”

I shoved my way past Matthew, who clumsily attempted to stop me, shoving my way all the way out of the room through the doors, rushing through the dimly lit stone hallways. I didn’t know where the hell I was going, but it didn’t matter so long as it wasn’t in there anymore.

I needed to get the fuck out. I needed to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok wow so i pumped out like two chapters of this in a day what the heck who am i? idk if i can keep that kind of mojo up, but i seriously am gonna try to finish this fic if it's the death of me. (i also wanna finish my original novel and some of my other side projects, but that's not what you guys are here for). i rewrote this chapter like three times because i wanted to get the ~lore~ right so i hope everything kinda sorta makes sense lmao. 
> 
>  
> 
> as always, i gotta thank you guys. everyone on here who's taken the time to read, leave comments and leave kudos has been so, SO sweet, and i seriously can't thank you guys enough. i know it's gonna get annoying to hear me thank you all the time but i'm gonna do it because it means so much to know people are actually reading and enjoying my writing, even if it's just some silly fanfiction. so thank you. hearing from you guys always makes me smile, so don't hesitate to leave something down in the comments. i'll do my best to get back to you!
> 
> thanks again and i hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> p.s. - happy pride month!


	8. rats!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY i'm so sorry i promised it wouldn't take another month to update but here we are a month later with another update, finally. i'm writing this fic when i have time between work and my original novel, which i don't seem to have too much of, AND on top of that i'm recovering from having strep throat in july for some reason! anyways, no excuses, it is what it is, but i felt i owed you guys a little bit of an explanation. 
> 
> also, i've rewritten this chapter three times because i kept hating how it was turning out. the original version was too creepy, the next version was a little to Dramatic, and i think i'm happy with this version finally which is also the longest chapter so far. i hope you guys enjoy it too! as always, i gotta thank you guys for sticking by me on this fic despite sporadic updates and illnesses and work drama because i really appreciate it. 
> 
> i love being a part of the ghost fandom with all the talented artists and writers and musicians, and it's really fucking cool to have my silly little ghost passion fic be enjoyed by those same very talented people. so thank you guys so much for the kudos and comments, and even just stopping by to read. and don't be afraid to leave a comment even if you haven't yet! i love hearing from everyone!
> 
> ok ok i will shut up! thank you guys again and here's hoping (but not promising) that it won't take another month for another chapter!

Nobody came after me as I fled the room. Initially I found it odd, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want them following me and trying to forcefully impregnate me or murder me to see if I came back from the dead or whatever the fuck it was that they were going to do based on that bizarre story. I didn’t even care about getting Matthew out of here anymore. If he wanted to be in this cult I didn’t care anymore. That was his choice. But I wasn’t going to join him, at least not without a good fight. 

I skidded to a halt upon the cold stone floor. I’d gone so goddamn far that I had no clue where I was. I was far away from Papa’s office and the room I’d spent the night in, and I had no clue how to get back to either place (not that I really wanted to), nor did I have any clue how to get out of this infernal hellhole. I was at the end of the corridor I’d nearly sprinted down, and it forked off into two separate halls, one to my left, one to my right. Neither one felt right. Both of them would probably lead to equally fucked up ends, and even if I did get out of here, I’d have to face the Nine Circles again, and I definitely didn’t want to do that. And, I mean, if by some means I did manage to get through the Nine Circles, I wouldn’t know where to go once I was out. I had no fucking clue where I was, except that I was in Sweden, vaguely near Linköping. 

I was fucking trapped. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” I uttered under my breath. Tears of fear and frustration burned at my eyes, and in a moment of desperation, I punched the stone wall, cleanly skinning my knuckles in the process, making myself swear once again. 

As I wiped the blood from my hands against the side of my black jeans, a strange little nibbling sensation at my ankle caught my attention. Warily, I glanced down and saw the most enormous, chunkiest black rat I’d ever seen in my goddamn life staring up at me knowingly. Its little hands tugged on my jeans as it gave me a pleading glance, and somehow, I felt like I understood what the itty little creature was trying to say. It was as if he was saying, “ _ Hey, you okay? Need a hug? _ ” 

Just as I was denying the urge to bend over and pick the little guy up, the click of a tongue and shoes against the floor interrupted us. Through slightly teary eyes, I glanced up to see a middle-aged man dressed as a cardinal—something I knew from my years at Catholic school, unfortunately—coming towards me with some serious raccoon makeup around his eyes, which, like Papa’s, were heterochromatic.  _ Jesus, what the fuck is in the water around here?  _ His cassock bore a Ghost logo upon his chest and he sported a thin mustache, and upon seeing him, the rat ran to greet him and skillfully bounced up his garments to settle on his shoulder like a parrot. 

“ _ Eccoti,  _ Cosmael,” the man praised, giving the rat a small treat of sorts with his gloved fingers.  _ More Italian? Why are there so many goddamn Italian Satanists in Sweden?  _ “Now, why don’t you apologize to Sister—” 

The man’s eyes flickered to my face, causing his sentence to trail off. His eyes were wide for a moment with some sort of realization before dropping into a slightly clumsy bow. 

“My apologies,  _ signorina _ ,” he said to me. “I mistook you for another one of the Sisters of Sin. It is truly a pleasure to meet you after all this time, Signorina Elizabeth.” 

I stared at him blankly. What was I supposed to say to that? What was I supposed to say to any of these lunatics? 

Picking up on my confusion, he stepped forward, offering me a black leather gloved hand to shake. I hesitantly shook his hand because, well, I was still scared that if I didn’t comply with these weirdos that they’d shank me on the spot. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” the man repeated. He lifted my hand to his half-painted lips for a light kiss, making me want to vomit. Releasing my hand, he straightened himself up and informed me, “I am Cardinal Copia.” 

_ Copia...wasn’t this the guy Matthew was studying with? Ew… _

“Uh, okay,” I said rather blandly.

“Are you lost,  _ signorina _ ?” Cardinal Copia asked me. “These hallways can be quite deceiving for newcomers...is there somewhere I can help you go?” 

“Home,” I answered without even thinking about it. 

My answer made Copia laugh. I felt my face twist into a grimace. 

“Well, that is not somewhere I can help you go,” he told me, like I didn’t already know that. “But, eh...perhaps you’d like to join me in my office for some coffee and  _ pasticcini _ ? Or tea, whichever you’d prefer...you look as though you could use something to calm your nerves...and unless Papa has somewhere for you to be right now…” 

_ Papa.  _ That was the last person I wanted to fucking see right now, or ever again, for that matter. I didn’t want to be here at all. But, if my choices were having to go back to Papa and Sister Imperator and a room full of ghouls, or going to hang out with this weird little cardinal, I guess I’d have to choose the second option. At least I felt as though I could kick this guy’s ass if he tried to shank me a sacrifice me to Satan...I knew I’d have no chance of fighting off Papa and his small army of masked ghouls. 

“No, uh…,” I faltered. I forced myself to smile, not wanting to come off as rude. I didn’t need to make any enemies around here. “Coffee sounds nice.” 

Coffee  _ did  _ sound nice. As my mother and I used to say,  _ coffee could fix anything.  _ I doubted coffee could fix this. Well, I knew that coffee couldn’t fix this. Coffee couldn’t erase the past few bizarre and frightening months of my life and make everything go back to normal and hunky-dory again. But maybe a cup of coffee could help me feel better, at least temporarily. And, if it meant that I could waste some time before my seemingly inevitable demise at the hands of a group of Swedish Satanists, then it really couldn’t be so bad. 

“ _ Bene _ ,” the cardinal grinned, clapping his gloved hands together. “This way, then,  _ signorina _ ...to my office we go.” 

I forced another sickening smile before beginning to follow him as he moseyed down the winding hallways with impressive ease, humming to himself as he walked. The rat, who I could now surmise was named Cosmael, sat perched on his shoulder comfortably, quizzically glancing back at me every few paces like he knew something about me that I didn’t. He probably did, seeing as nothing made sense around here. It would only figure that a rat would have superhuman intelligence. I mean, Special made a tissue disappear into thin air earlier. Mutant rats with super intelligence didn’t seem that far out anymore.  

I followed Cardinal Copia down a spiral staircase that led outside. It was no longer raining, but there was a thick fog that hung over the lush, dense, and rather untamed Swedish forest that left a chill in the air, causing me to shiver. The sweater I’d been given was nice, but I definitely could use a jacket, because I could feel winter creeping up. 

From there, we crossed a hazardous looking covered stone bridge over a ravine. My initial instinct was to reach out and grab Copia for support due to my crippling fear of heights, but I refrained. I was scared, yes, but I wasn’t stupid enough to reach out and trust this guy. Hell, for all I knew, Copia would see my fear and shove me over the side. He may have promised coffee, and I may have been stupid enough to be lured in by the promise of my favorite caffinated bean water, but I wasn’t stupid enough to further purposely tempt fate. 

Then again, all my tempting fate might not have much of an effect on anything anymore. 

We came upon another enormous, medieval stone building. Groups of people, men and women, all dressed similarly to Matthew, came in and out, laughing and chatting and toting books and papers and folders, all while a couple of ghouls held the doors for them. From that, and from what I could see beyond the doors, I could assume we were at a library, one that reminded me a lot of my university back home. 

“Welcome to the library, the most beautiful part of Helvetefönster,” Copia announced, confirming my suspicions. “My office is on the sixth floor...we’ll be there after a short elevator ride.” 

I nodded vaguely, focusing on taking in my surroundings. The library was expansive and old, but very well kept up. It looked a lot like what I would imagine any old university library would look like in Europe, with cool stone floors and mahogany beams across the ceilings, tough a vaulted ceiling in the middle of the building allowed for a view of five balconies, one for each floor above ground level. There were rows of bookshelves broken up by occasional workstations with laptops, where “brothers and sisters,” sat working at them or reading or chatting over cups of coffee. Everyone was simply going about their days, relaxed and happy as they did. It was all very normal, disturbingly normal when I remembered the situation I was in.  

However, what wasn’t so normal was when the two ghouls who held the doors open for Copia and I leaned in and very obviously  _ smelled  _ me. 

_ Fucking weirdos.  _

I hurried to catch up to Cardinal Copia, mostly because I didn’t want to be sniffed again, and also because I felt more and more eyes darting to me as I entered the library. I stuck out since I was the only one not dressed in those weird robes or ghoul regalia, and as soon as the rest of the people spotted me they began furiously whispering to each other about me. I ducked my head to try to hide behind my hair—I hated the attention. 

I had always hated having any amount of attention on me, preferring to stay under the radar and avoid people watching me or even knowing I existed. I didn’t know if they were all watching me because I was clearly an outsider, or because the rumors of me being “The Ghuleh,” had spread throughout Helvetefönster had spread already, but it didn’t really matter. Everyone was staring and whispering, and that alone was all it took to make me thoroughly uncomfortable. 

“Ignore them,  _ signorina, _ ” Copia advised sagely. He pressed the button to call for the elevator, which, for lack of a better reference, eerily reminded me of the elevator in  _ The Shining. _ He ushered me inside, saying, “They’re just excited that you’re finally here.” 

I wanted to roll my eyes, but at the same time I wanted to puke. What did these people really want from me? What did they exactly expect me to do? If Papa was to be believed and if that heinous story was to be believed, I guess they expected me to kill myself and then come back from the dead and give birth to the Antichrist...all of which sounded much more like a bad ripoff of  _ American Horror Story  _ than something that people actually believed could happen, even crazy Swedish Satanists. 

Despite all of the remarks I had in my head, I kept my mouth shut and followed Copia down the library corridor that wound its way around the balcony barricade. Finally, we came upon another large mahogany door that Copia began to unlock with an ancient skeleton key. At the same time, the rat, Cosmael, leapt from his shoulder, landing on the floor gracefully and slipping into a perfectly rat-sized hole carved at the bottom of the door, clearly put there by a human. It was strange, but at the same time weirdly endearing... _ Copia liked his pet rat that much?  _ It reminded me of something I’d do for my cat, if my landlord would’ve allowed it. 

_ My cat.  _ Fuck. I missed her. 

My momentary pang of sadness for my cat back home vanished into thin air as the door to the office swung open, revealing an office that was much like Papa’s, though significantly smaller and more cluttered. That was all fine and dandy, but what shocked me was that the room was absolutely crawling in rats. Rats here, there, and everywhere, every color and size, and they went scrambling back into various little holes in the wall, fleeing the light. I clutched my chest. I didn’t have anything against rats, but I sure as hell wasn’t expecting to see five hundred of them in the cramped office. 

Then again, I should be expecting anything and everything from this place. Anything is possible here, I guess. 

“I apologize for the scare,  _ signorina _ ,” Copia said, seeming a bit embarrassed as he ushered me into a spare chair. “I have very few visitors to my office...I forget that not everyone is as fond of rats as I am.” 

“I...I just wasn’t expecting there to be so...many of them,” I said, still recovering from the real life jumpscare. 

The Cardinal chuckled nervously as he began to prepare coffee at the small kitchen station shoved into the corner beneath the small stained glass window. 

“Did—do you have pets?” he asked. I guess that was his way of trying to keep the conversation light, which I didn’t mind. 

“A cat,” I answered honestly. 

Copia crinkled his nose momentarily. 

“I take it you’re not a cat guy,” I commented. 

“Not exactly,” he said. He sat his hat aside on his desk, then pouring two cups of coffee, and asked me, “Sugar or milk?” 

“Neither,” I said. 

“Ah, you take it black,” he said, handing me my cup. He clinked his mug against mine and said, “That’s something I can appreciate.” 

“Thank you.” 

I took a long sip, surprised and grateful to find it to be one of the best goddamn cups of coffee I’d had in my entire life. 

_ I just hope it isn’t spiked.  _

_ Then again, maybe it’d be better if it was—get all this shit over with.  _

“So, Elizabeth, has Papa Emeritus revealed to you why you’re here?” the Cardinal asked, settling into his seat behind his disorganized desk. 

“Yes,” I answered. 

Copia sipped his coffee and set his cup aside on a stack of papers, watching me carefully. I swallowed, uncomfortable beneath his gaze. Sure, he’d been nice and slightly awkward thus far, but the way he was looking at me with those mismatched eyes reminded me too much of Papa for my own comfort. 

“Do you not believe him?” he asked me. 

“Do you?” I asked. 

I’d spoken without thinking and immediately regretted it. I was used to letting myself be as much of a smart-ass as I wanted. Here, I couldn’t do that. I still wasn’t used to practicing so much self restraint. 

Copia sighed, unbuttoning the top couple buttons of his cassock as if to relieve tension. 

“There are many things that the Emeritus family and I disagree with,” he said. “But this I agree with them on...I think, after all our years of searching, that we have finally found The Ghuleh.” 

He stared at me again, prompting me to say, “Me.” 

“You,” he nodded. 

I took another long sip of my coffee, hoping that by the time I emptied the cup I’d be back home in Rochester. 

“You’ve never felt, eh... _ different? _ ” Copia pressed. “Special? Powerful?” 

I rolled my eyes, though I kept my head ducked so that he didn’t see. 

“I’m not a witch or whatever you guys think I am,” I said. “That’s for damn sure.” 

“Well, we can prove that with a little test,” Copia said. Seeing the panic flash in my eyes, he added, “If you, eh, agree to it, that is.” 

“I...I guess,” I said. 

Maybe if I proved to these weirdos that I  _ wasn’t _ a witch, but instead a very average American, they’d let me go home. It was a longshot, but it was worth a try. I mean, I’d bled earlier when I punched that wall. If a little more bloodshed was all I needed to go home, then I’d do it. 

“Excellent!” Cardinal Copia exclaimed. He leapt to his feet and rummaged around in a drawer in his desk, pulling out a small knife, presumably one used to open letters, and slowly made his way around the desk towards me. “This is one of the simplest ways to test for a witch...since I was—since medieval times, it has been believed that witches who actively possess magical powers, cannot, eh, bleed like your average person can, that they cannot bleed unless their injury is magically inflicted. So, if I—with your permission—give you a small cut here...you should not bleed.” 

He gestured to my forearm, which I gave him, after pushing up the sleeve to reveal my skin. I didn’t love the idea of letting this Satanic Cardinal go to town on my arm with a letter opener, but if it showed everyone that I wasn’t a witch and that I wasn’t “the Ghuleh,” and that I could go home, then I’d do it. 

“Okay,” I said in a mousy voice, giving my permission. 

“Thank you,” he said, bowing his head quickly. “This should only hurt a little…” 

I watched with painful anticipation as Copia moved the knife closer to me, finally pushing the blade into my skin. A sharp pain followed the knife as he dragged it from my inner elbow down to my wrist, and for a small moment I closed my eyes, wincing a bit, but when I opened them, I was amazed. 

There was no blood. No mark whatsoever, other than a slight red line where Copia had dragged the knife against me. And I knew he had pushed hard enough to have been able to draw blood. Hell, from what I saw and felt, he’d pushed hard enough to carve a line all the way down to bone, and yet there was nothing. It looked like he’d lightly dragged a retracted pen over my arm, not a goddamn sharp letter opener. 

Cardinal Copia’s heterochromatic eyes went wide as he gasped, standing up straight as he stared down at my arm. He then ducked into a frantic bow, muttering something in Latin under his breath, and taking my hand in his leather-gloved fingers, again bringing them to his mustached lips for a brief kiss. 

“Ghuleh,” he said, sounding like he was in absolute awe. “It is an honor to finally be in your presence.” 


	9. skeptic and believer

Twelve thunderous clangs of a distant bell interrupted whatever the hell was going on between the cardinal and I, making him stand up straight once more and snap out of the fit of awe I’d unintentionally induced. 

“Lunch!” Copia exclaimed, as if he’d forgotten the very concept existed. 

He muttered something to himself under his breath as he stumbled over a stack of books on the floor to get his biretta and put it back on. 

“My apologies, Elizabeth, but I have lunch plans with Sister Imperator,” he informed me. “I suppose it is time that I return you to Papa.” 

_ Great.  _ That was the last place I wanted to be. Then again, maybe I’d get to see Matthew again, and maybe, just maybe, I’d get a minute alone with him to try to pry his brain and see what the hell was wrong with him and what happened to him that made him so quickly and drastically change into a committed cultist. 

“Alright,” I agreed reluctantly. 

I rubbed at my forearm, again amazed by the lack of any wound, and then rolled my sleeve back down. I shook my head a little. I kept questioning what I’d gotten myself into and how all of this was real live and not some anxiety-induced fever dream or another one of my many terrifyingly vivid night terrors. A large part of me kept expecting to wake up on the flight to Sweden, only to realize that this had all been an elaborate product of my scared subconscious imagination. But I knew that wasn’t the case. If that was the case, I would’ve woken up a long time ago. That, and another equally large part of me knew that this was stupidly real. 

My brain wanted it all to make sense. If any of this made sense, I’d feel better. But it didn’t, and it wouldn’t, and that was what was truly driving me mad. 

But, I didn’t have time to sit and muse over all of the shit I so desperately wanted to figure out, as Cardinal Copia gestured for me to follow him, which I did. I didn’t want to, but I did, because I still knew that it was in my best interest to follow orders in this godforsaken place. 

After stepping out of the office, Copia locked the door with the skeleton key. I could hear all of the rats scampering out into the darkness on the other side, making me shiver. I didn’t have anything against rats necessarily—but I couldn’t say I was a fan of seeing that many of them together in a small space all at once. At the same time, something about seeing all of those critters made me miss my cat even more. 

_ I hoped Mom and Maggie were still remembering to feed her…. _

I pushed the thoughts of home from my head as I followed Copia, retracing the steps we’d taken to get here, all while listening to him whistle as he went. 

_ I could definitely go without the whistling...for fuck’s sake, that’s annoying. _

When we reached the first floor of the library, it seemed that most of the other people who were hanging around had understood that the chiming of the bell meant lunch, as the entire building had pretty much cleared out, save for a couple of ghouls who roamed the aisle between bookshelves cleaning up scraps of paper from the floor. At first I felt bad, wondering why they weren’t going to eat too, but the sympathy quickly vanished when I remembered that they had smelled me on my way in like fucking dogs. 

_ Gross.  _

“Cardinal Copia!” interrupted another voice. It was my brother, striding towards us on the cobblestone pathway that lead to the library as he waved and flashed a big grin. 

“Ah, hello, Brother Devoro,” Copia replied. 

His demeanor changed noticeably, perhaps to keep up some sort of air around Matthew, seeing as he was evidently his teacher of sorts. I didn’t put much thought into it. I was more taken aback by the fact that Matthew had a cult name too.  _ Devoro? The fuck?  _

“Has Sister Imperator sent you along for me?” Copia asked. He seemed nervous to mention Sister Imperator. I noticed him twiddle his gloved hands together in an attempt to ease some of his nerves. “Or has—?” 

“Oh, no,” Matthew interjected. “Papa sent me to find Elizabeth...he figured I’d have a better chance getting to her than he or any of the ghouls would.” 

_ Honestly, I think I’d rather see Special than you,  _ I thought to myself, crossing my arms over my chest as a chill ran up my spine.  _ He may be a cult member, but at least he seems sort of sane, unlike you. _

“Yes, well, eh…,” Copia drawled. He looked me over from the corners of his mismatched eyes, trying to figure out what to say next. He then turned to face me, tucking his hands neatly before him as he said, “I did quite enjoy getting to meet you, Elizabeth. I hope we, eh...get another chance to have coffee together again. Soon.” 

I smiled vaguely. I didn’t know what else to do, let alone say. The cardinal wasn’t as bad as, say, Papa, but I didn’t desire to have coffee with him again. In fact, I’d be quite okay if I never saw him again. 

“Ah, very well,” Copia supplied awkwardly, seeing as I wasn’t going to say anything. “I will see you two later, then...I don’t want to keep Sister Imperator waiting any longer.” 

“Of course not,” Matthew replied. “Enjoy your lunch, Cardinal; I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

The cardinal ducked into a slightly awkward bow followed by a nod before dashing off towards the building that we’d originally came from. Frankly, I was glad to see the strange little man go. Not because he was particularly threatening—especially when compared to his colleagues—but rather because of the encounter in his office. I didn’t like that he too believed that I was “the ghuleh.” I also wasn’t sitting well with the fact that I didn’t bleed when he practically attempted to slice my entire arm open with that knife. I’d just bled an hour or so ago when I punched that wall out of frustration, so why hadn’t I bled then, when my life probably depended on it? 

It didn’t make any sense. I wish I could’ve chalked it up to some weird magic trick like the kind Special had done to make the tissue disappear the first night I was here, but that didn’t make any sense. I felt the pain of the knife when Copia used it on me. There was no rational explanation for my lack of a wound, and that wasn’t sitting well with me. 

Well, none of this was sitting well with me. But that certainly didn’t help matters. 

“Isn’t Cardinal Copia great?” Matthew mused. He looked over to me, still wearing a smile of admiration on his face. 

“What?” I blurted out. 

I couldn’t believe my brother— _ my brother, _ the ever-persistent individualist who never listened to anybody for anything—had been so radically brainwashed by these freaks. But, as I saw his sudden chance in expression, I realized it was best not to question him on it or dare to disagree. 

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I answered half-heartedly. “He’s uh...something.” 

“Yeah, he definitely is,” Matthew agreed. 

Fuck, he was too brainwashed to pick up what I was putting down.  _ That ain’t good.  _

“I’ve been studying with him since I got to Helvetefönster,” Matthew informed me proudly, as he gestured for me to follow him. “He’s one of the most fascinating people I’ve ever met, El. I guess he and Papa don’t really see eye to eye on a lot, but...well, that stuff happens.” 

“Yeah,” I said. 

We walked a few paces along the cobblestone path in silence. I watched Matthew the entire time, trying to figure out what the hell happened to him and what was going on in that brain of his. He honestly looked more content than I’d seen him in a long time. I was used to seeing my brother with his guard up—constantly ready to defend himself against all of the assholes who would inevitably judge him for his dyed-black hair, his macabre t-shirts and fashion sense, his piercings, and his brash attitude. He had learned to put up that tough exterior for the world to see, though he was still the world’s best big brother when I needed him. But the tough facade had worn him down under the years, understandably so. He’d started looking more tired over the past couple of years, tired of putting up with people’s crap. 

Now, however, there was none of that exhaustion visible on him, nor any of the frustration. He looked refreshed. He looked healthier, like he’d gained a healthy bit of weight to his lanky frame. There was a twinkle in his eye that was new. He just looked  _ happy,  _ totally and completely happy, happier than I’d probably ever seen him in my life. 

I wanted to be happy that he was happy. That was how a good sister should feel, right? But how could I be happy for his happiness when I knew it was all due to the fact that he’d joined a fucking Satanic cult in Sweden headed by the singer of his favorite band? 

“You’re really happy here, aren’t you?” I asked in a mousy voice. 

I felt like I was choking back tears. If he was really happy here, was it wrong of me to try to take him away when I knew how much he hated the outside world? 

“Oh yeah!” he confirmed enthusiastically. “Like I said, El, this is the first place that I feel...like...that I feel like I can be myself, y’know? I’m not a freak or a weirdo here. Satan accepts everyone.” 

_ Satan.  _ I couldn’t believe that my atheist brother was standing before me very seriously talking about his appreciation for a, as he seemed to believe, literal incarnation of the devil. 

“It’s great here,” he went on, perhaps sensing my disbelief. “We all work together to serve Him, but, I mean, it’s not all work. We get to do whatever, really. And there’s a lot of music and parties and fun shit, all with like-minded people who have learned to accept each other for our similarities and our differences and built a community together.” 

We stopped in our tracks for a moment, staring at each other. I was watching to see if he was really serious or not and he wanted to see if I was going to believe him or continue thinking that he was absolutely brainwashed and off his rocker. When I looked into his eyes, I didn’t see someone who was brainwashed or hurt. I saw someone who was passionate in their convictions, someone who had found their place in the world, someone who was finally  _ happy.  _

And as mad and confused and frustrated as I was, I couldn’t bring myself to take that happiness away from him. 

After a long sigh and a lot of thinking, I finally said, “Well, I’m happy for you, Matthew. I’m happy you’re happy here. And if this really is the place for you, then I guess I don’t have the right to try to make you come home.” 

Matthew’s mouth broke into a soft smile. For a split second, I could’ve sworn he was going to cry. 

“Thanks for that,” he said lowly. He cleared his throat, trying to put on a bit more of his tough exterior. “I’m glad you’re starting to understand how I feel about this place.” 

“Yeah, well…,” I faltered as we started to walk again. “That doesn’t mean I want to be here.” 

“But you’re meant to be here!” he chirped quickly and emphatically. The frenzied passion returned to his eyes as he parroted Copia, telling me, “You’re  _ the ghuleh! _ How can you think about leaving when—”

“Matt, I have no clue what the fuck that really means,” I interjected. “All I’ve gathered is that they’re gonna try to kill me to see if I rise from the dead to give birth to the Antichrist. And, though I respect your beliefs there, I don’t share them with you. To me, this is all an insane nightmare. If you wanna stay and you’re happy and healthy here, I can’t stop you, but I just wanna go home.” 

My brother frowned at me. I’d hurt and offended and maybe even angered him all at once.

“You can’t go home,” he told me. His tone was harsh. I didn’t know if he intended it to be that way or not. “This is where you’re supposed to be. You’re the one everyone’s been waiting for for hundreds and thousands of years. You’re the Ghuleh; you’re going to be the mother of the Antichrist.” 

I sighed again. I wanted to cry, I was so frustrated with all this Satanic prophecy bullshit. I raked a hand through my messy hair, shivering as a cold blast of wind wound around us. 

“I don’t think I am, though,” I told him. “I’m just some girl from upstate New York. I’m a Catholic school grad and an atheist with a degree in music education. I’m, like, the last possible candidate to be the subject of any prophecy.”

“Don’t say that about yourself,” he said, grabbing my shoulder. He was gazing at me seriously, like he thought what I’d said was too degrading to say about myself. “You’re special. I’ve always told you that, even before all of this...you’re smart and kind and talented. You’ve always thought for yourself and you never followed anyone blindly, and I’ve told you that for years. You  _ are _ the Ghuleh, Ellie. I know you are.” 

I gave him a bit of A Look. I couldn’t believe I was getting this deep into this nonsense, but hey, I was already this far, so there wasn’t a point in trying to get über logical with him now. 

“How are you so sure?” I asked. “Haven’t there been handfuls of other girls that they put through tests who  _ died _ because of them?” 

“Yes,” Matthew confirmed. I didn’t love hearing that confirmation. “But they weren’t the ones. They were hysterical messes who went through the tests because they thought it was their ticket home. You’ve been the most, well,  _ sane _ out of all of them. And Cardinal Copia is convinced you’re the one, and I believe him. And beyond that, Special has made himself known to you, which makes me think that you’re the one even more, because I never saw him before in all the months I was here before you arrived. If he’s sniffing you out, you must be the one.” 

We stared at each other again. I was still skeptical, and rightfully so. He was a true believer. 

“So what if they test me and I die like the rest of them?” I asked, finally posing the Big question. “You’ll live with that?” 

“No,” Matthew said. He choked up at the thought of me dying, which gave me some small bit of comfort. “I couldn’t live with that. Not at all.” 

“And what if I am the one?” I pressed. Recalling the rest of the insane prophecy relayed to me by Papa, I questioned, “What if I am ‘the ghuleh,’ or whatever, and I come back from the dead only to die again after I give birth to the Antichrist?” 

“It’ll upset me a whole hell of a lot, obviously,” he told me. “You’re my sister. I’ll obviously be devastated if you die. But—”

“ _ But?! _ ” I repeated. I did not like that ‘but.’ 

“But I’ll be proud,” he said. “I’ll be proud to be your brother. I’ll be proud to be the brother of the Ghuleh, and I’ll be proud of you for serving such a higher purpose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow another chapter in a week? i must be on a roll or something! hopefully i can keep up the momentum. i've just been super excited about this fic again recently and it's great! 
> 
> i know this chapter doesn't feature much ghost, but i really do love my ocs and wanted to flush them out a little bit, and continue to do that throughout the fic. how do you guys feel about matthew? love him? hate him? think he's totally lost it? do you think elizabeth will ever accept her apparent fate? lemme know! i love hearing from you!
> 
> and, as always, THANK YOU! thank you for the comments, the kudos, or even just taking the time to read this. i really appreciate it. it gives me hope that maybe someday my original novels will get read. 
> 
> alright, well, thanks again! i'll see you guys down in the comments and hopefully next week when i finish the next chapter (which is already being worked on)! enjoy!


	10. lunch date

Matthew and I didn’t talk for the rest of our walk. I had nothing to say to him, knowing he was perfectly happy to let me die under certain circumstances. He had a lot to say to me, which I could see written on his face, but he knew better than to try to push it with me right now. So, we walked side-by-side in silence as he guided me back to the building that Copia and I had come from earlier, and through the winding corridors until we came to a small private dining room. 

Two ghouls held the doors open for us and closed them behind us, leaving us on our own in the elaborate room. I say it was small, but really it was probably bigger than my entire apartment back home. The mahogany floor was almost entirely covered by a lavish crimson and gold Persian rug, and the window overlooking the forest at the back of the room was draped in blood red curtains fit for a Tudor castle. The table in the center of the room was round, circled by tall-backed dining chairs upholstered with rich black velvet and golden tassels. The table was set for five, with the most expensive looking China I’d ever seen in my damn life. The room was mostly lined with bookshelves and portraits of men in various different versions of Papa’s skull paint, all of which were unsettlingly life-like and seemed to be watching my every move, like paintings from a Scooby Doo episode. 

Seeing my awe, Matthew chuckled and said, “The Church really knows how to get fancy, huh?” 

I gave him a glare. I still wasn’t over the fact that he was willingly going to allow me to be murdered. 

He saw the ice in my eyes. The smile immediately fell off his face and he turned his attention from me to the chair he pulled out for himself, then focusing completely on politely folding his black napkin in his lap. 

I sighed once more and quietly settled into a seat myself, leaving one empty seat between Matthew and I. I was seriously that upset with him that I didn’t even want to be directly next to him. I didn’t even want to be in the room with him or in the same country with him knowing he was handing me over to my eventual murderers, but I didn’t exactly have a choice here anymore. Not that I ever did. 

The doors opened again, held open by the ghouls so that Papa and Special could make their entrance.  _ Great.  _ Just who I wanted to see. 

“Feeling better now after our little temper tantrum, are we?” Papa asked, adjusting a button on his cuff. He grinned at me with a close-lipped smile, like he seriously thought he was my favorite uncle and had the right to tease me in such a way. “Personally I would be in a worse mood after having to deal with the nitwit cardinal, but eh...I’m glad you seem to have settled down.” 

I still said nothing, as I had nothing to say, feeling supremely uncomfortable as Papa took the seat to my right and Special took the seat to my left, between Matthew and I. I was sandwiched between the two of them now and thoroughly regretting my decision not to sit directly next to Matthew. Sure, he was okay with me dying, but he wasn’t going to be the one actively murdering me like these two probably were. 

“Papa Nihil will be joining us shortly,” Papa said, apparently feeling the need to carry on the conversation to attempt to evade the prevailing awkwardness in the room. “He’s, eh, not exactly the fastest moving nowadays.” 

_ Papa Nihil? There are MORE of them? _

“What did you think of the library?” asked Special. 

It was such a surprisingly normal question, asked in such a surprisingly normal way that it took me off guard. Nothing about my time here had been normal. None of my conversations here had been anywhere close to normal. So, Special making normal small talk seemed particularly strange, though it was a welcome kind of change. 

“It was, uh, nice,” I said, absentmindedly fiddling with my napkin. 

“A lot of people think it’s the most impressive building at Helvetefönster, besides the church itself,” Special told me. “But, personally, I prefer the music building.” 

“Music building?” I repeated. 

That piqued my interest. I didn’t know if he was purposely mentioning things I liked to try to gain false trust or if he was being genuinely kind by mentioning it, but I guess it didn’t really matter. I was most likely going to end up dead anyways, regardless of whether or not one guy was really trying to be nice to me or not. 

“Yes,” Special nodded. “It’s where the band rehearses and the band ghouls practice their instruments and whatnot...I’ll show you around after lunch if you want.” 

“Okay,” I found myself agreeing. What did I have to lose now? 

Somehow, it seemed like Special was smiling behind the mask. I didn’t know how I knew that, or if it was comforting or terrifying, but it was definitely something. 

“The music building is nothing unless we are playing,” Papa chimed in with a dismissive hand gesture. He turned towards me a bit, his legs elegantly crossed beneath the table. “Come to the music building tomorrow night when the band and I are rehearsing...then you will see a  _ real  _ show.” 

“Alright,” I agreed again. “That sounds...nice.” 

I knew enough about Ghost’s music from Matthew to know I enjoyed it enough to be quite alright with catching a show before I died. 

“Nice?” Papa repeated. Amused, he chuckled. “ _ Passerotta,  _ I can assure you that it will be more than  _ nice. _ A private Ghost show will be one of the highlights of your life.” 

_ My very short life. My life that is bound to end very soon.  _

Despite my mind being preoccupied by my impending death, I forced myself to smile. I didn’t know why. There wasn’t really a point. I was fairly sure my fate was sealed regardless of whether or not I played nice. I guess my mother and my Catholic school years had too much of an effect on me, making be apt to play nice even when it proved to be pointless and exhausting. 

“Special, you’ll make sure Elizabeth makes it tomorrow night, yes?” Papa requested. Seeing Special nod, Papa looked back to me and said, “I’ll see to it that the ghouls prepare a special show for our guest of honor.” 

He winked at me, winking his eye with the white iris. I couldn’t say I loved being winked at by the pope of a Satanic church, but, hey, that’s what my life has come to. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Matthew’s face twist into an expression of extreme jealousy. He obviously wanted in on that private show. I hated to say it, but I was sort of glad that he was jealous. Him being jealous of me was the weakest form of payback I could give him for willingly handing me over to my murderers. It wasn’t much, but I’d take it. 

Another ghoul slipped into the room, making his way over to Papa, where he crouched down so he could speak directly into his ear. I didn’t hear much, but I did manage to make out the words “stuck,” and “toilet,” and that was all I really needed to know. 

“Ah, thank you,” Papa said, dismissing the ghoul with a wave of the hand. He cleared his throat and informed us, “It appears that Papa Nihil will not be joining us for lunch today, as he is, eh...stuck in a, eh, meeting.” 

I fought the urge to laugh. It was the first time I’d had the urge to laugh in what felt like years. 

“But we shall carry on with our lunch, yes?” Papa continued. Clearly he didn’t want to discuss the previous situation any further. “Yes, yes…” 

He reached forward to grab the small golden bell from the center of the table and rang it, which summoned a series of new ghouls that came in through the back door, carrying covered silver platters, a bottle of wine, and a crystal jug of water. They proceeded to serve us like the staff at a fancy restaurant, something that everyone but me seemed to be totally used to. They served Papa, Matthew, and I with plates of what, from my limited knowledge of cuisine, appeared to be meat of some sorts braised with vegetables and a side of something I knew to be risotto. Paired with glasses of red wine and water, the meal did look pretty damn delicious, I did have to say. It made me very suddenly realize that I was starving and that it’d most likely been hours since I last ate at breakfast. 

“This is Helvetefönster’s take on osso bucco,” Papa told me, while a ghoul tied a napkin around his neck as a bib. “Straight form our hellish kitchen, it’s one of the finest dishes in the world. Here’s to a delicious meal and many more delicious moments for us all to come.” 

He raised his glass of wine in a toast. I did the same, as did Matthew, though Special did not. After clinking my glass with the others’, I took a small sip, realizing that it was damn strong wine, and set the glass back down. I glanced over to my left and saw that while my plate, Papa’s plate, and Matthew’s plate were all loaded, Special’s was totally empty, as were his glasses. I wondered why. 

_ Maybe he can’t take the mask off? He definitely can’t eat wearing that thing, there’s no mouth hole. _

“I’m, uh, a picky eater,” Special told me, seeing my question written all over my face. “But go ahead and eat. Don’t worry about me.” 

I wasn’t really  _ worrying,  _ but nonetheless I took the cue and dug in. And, I hated to say it, but Papa was right: the meal was goddamn mouthwatering. 

“This is delicious, Papa,” Matthew said, being a total ass-licker. “Thank you for having us.” 

“You’re welcome,” Papa replied. 

He looked at me as he spoke. I got it—Matthew was just here to make me feel a little better and maybe to keep me from running again. I didn’t think Matthew got that, though. 

“You’re enjoying the meal, Elizabeth?” he then asked me, dabbing his painted lips lightly with the napkin from his lap. 

“Yes,” I answered.

Unlike my brother, I didn’t lick ass. Sure, I may still be playing nice, but I wasn’t going to lick ass. There was a difference. 

As I said, it really was pretty fucking good. I’d only tried the veggies and the risotto, but damn, I could eat it every day. I wasn’t a food expert or anything but I knew good food when I had it, and this was amazing food. Hell, it was so good that it was making me rethink my death sentence, and that was really saying something. 

“Try the meat,” Papa urged. “It’s delicious as the rest, I promise you.” 

Seeing as he hadn’t been wrong about the meal thus far, I obliged. I wasn’t much of a meat person normally. I wasn’t a vegetarian or anything, I just wasn’t a fan. But when I tried this meat, I loved it. 

_ Damn, they’re really getting me with this food. Fuck.  _

“It’s great,” I said. I didn’t want to give that praise, but I seriously couldn’t help it. It was that good. 

“I told you,” Papa grinned, sipping his wine. “We take our food very seriously here...gluttony is a sin, and we aim to be the best sinners around.” 

“Well, the veal is great,” I commented. I didn’t have anything to say about the sinning part, so I focused on the food. 

“Oh, it’s not veal,  _ passerotta, _ ” Papa said. Before I could even ask, he answered me. “It’s the remnants of Anders Borg.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so this chapter was finished a month ago, but i wasn't sure if i liked it or wanted to add more so i let it sit forever until i decided that it was long enough already. that, and there have been a lot of family things going on that have prevented me from having much time to dedicate from writing, but fortunately everything is settling down now and i have a bit more time to put towards writing. 
> 
> and even with my irregular schedule and long spans of time between updates, you guys still support my fic, and i have to issue another huge thank you because i really do appreciate it. i know i say that all the time but it's true! it always puts a huge smile on my face when i see a new comment or kudos and i love knowing that people enjoy my work as silly as it may be and that we have this fun little ghost community of creative minds here online. 
> 
> so, thank you again, and please enjoy.


	11. as you wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT okay i know i've been away for like two months and i'm so sorry but i went back to school and shit's been kind of crazy but i promise i will try my best to finish this fic! not sure how long that's going to take me, but goddamnit, i'm gonna try!
> 
> that being said, i wanna thank you guys for your support. it may be a silly lil ghost fanfic but it puts a smile on my face every time i see a new comment or kudos—so please don't be afraid to leave one of those down below if you haven't! I'll do my best replying to you guys too!
> 
> ALSO i recently went to my very first ritual! it was so fucking good and it didn't even feel real at first. seriously one of the best nights of my life and also made me realize i need to put a little effort into this fic again. 
> 
> so thank you guys and i hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts down in the comments and i'll see you there!

Right before I vomited my food back onto my plate and all over the fancy tablecloth, Papa’s gloved hand came down on my shoulder as he rushed to tell me, “I was only kidding! It was only a joke! I was trying, to, eh...lighten the mood...poorly, I suppose, but it was a joke!” 

I fell back into my seat as Papa’s hand left my shoulder, a rush of blood coming to my head that momentarily made me dizzy. I was still nauseous, not enough to vomit anymore, trying to decide if I wanted to believe him or not. I mean, who jokes about cannibalism? Well, probably the pope of a Satanic church, now that I was thinking about it, but I still wouldn’t put actual cannibalism past these people. 

“My apologies,” Papa said as I started to calm down a bit. He shrugged and said, “Everything was so serious, I thought I’d try to make you laugh.” 

_ Yeah, well, maybe cannibalism jokes aren’t the way to do that. Especially when actual cannibalism is very much in the realm of possibility.  _

Papa sighed and dabbed his made-up forehead with a napkin nervously. Was he actually worried about upsetting me? 

“It really was a joke,” the pope repeated. “I meant no offense—it is veal, not human meat.” 

I still didn’t know whether or not to believe him. I glanced across the table to Matthew for some sort of help figuring it out. His eyes were cast down to his plate. I watched as he slowly pushed the meat aside so that he could focus on the vegetables and risotto. That didn’t offer me any comfort, so I decided to look over to Special to see if he, yet again, could be the voice of reason. 

“It’s veal,” Special confirmed, seeing my pleading expression. “Anders Borg is still alive, for now. He’s down in the dungeons.” 

_ Dungeons…? Actually, that really shouldn’t surprise me at this point. _

“He’ll probably become ghoul food,” Papa commented offhandedly. “Nothing we’d serve you.” 

Was that why Special wasn’t eating? Was he an  _ actual  _ cannibal? Did all the ghouls eat people? Is that why there was that giant pit of rotting bodies in the forest...was that some sort of ghol restaurant trash can? 

A billion and one questions flooded my mind about the diet of certain residents of Helvetefönster. I was also questioning my judgement of Special. Had I been so stupid that I’d deemed a real life cannibal as the most trustworthy person around here, more so than my actual brother? That, and was I eventually going to end up as ‘ghoul food’ too when I, inevitably, failed to raise myself from the dead? 

I shivered at the thought. 

I pushed my plate away, setting my napkin back atop the table beside it. 

“Sorry, I’ve lost my appetite,” I said. I didn’t know why I apologized—I really shouldn’t have had to apologize, and yet I did. 

“Elizabeth, I—” Papa began to apologize once more. 

“It’s okay,” I lied. “I’m just not hungry anymore.” 

“Then why don’t we get on with the tour?” Special suggested. 

I had the feeling he was trying to save Papa’s ass. That was his boss, afterall. 

“Wonderful suggestion, Special,” Papa nodded. He clearly wanted to get the awkwardness over with and I couldn’t say I disagreed with him there. “Why don’t you two get on with that before I cause any more, eh...discomfort.” 

Special nodded and rose from his seat. I followed. I didn’t exactly know if I wanted to be with him if he was an actual cannibal, but I was ready to get out of the stuffy room with Papa, that was for sure. And at this point, being with a real cannibal might be less strange and fear inducing than being with Papa. 

From the corner of my eye, I could see my brother furrow his brows slightly as he watched me follow Special out the door. My first instinct was to think that he as jealous. He did speak about Special like he was some sort of mythical creature. Jealousy would make sense. But there was something else in his furrowed brow besides jealousy that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. 

It was hard for me to read Matthew now. He was little to nothing like the brother I had come here in search for. I could hardly believe it was him. In fact, if someone told me he was an actor playing my brother now, I just might believe them. 

One of the ghouls standing guard by the door swung it shut harshly, causing me to jump. It was just Special and I and the two guard ghouls in the corridor now, tucked away from Papa and my brother. I was kind of hoping these “ghouls,” were cannibals. If they devoured me, they’d at least get me out of this increasingly weird living nightmare. 

“Papa is trying, you know,” Special informed me. We started down a cramped spiral stairway, and he glanced over his shoulder at me through the eyeholes of his mask. “He might not know how to relate to young women outside of the bedroom, but he is trying, in his own weird way.” 

I nodded. Special seemed to understand my silence and apparent disinterest as my way of saying I didn’t want to rehash what had just happened, joke or not. Even if it was a joke, the fact that Anders Borg was somewhere in the dungeons waiting to be eaten by the ghouls evidently wasn’t, and that was disturbing enough in and of itself. 

We walked in silence for a few moments, heading outside to take one of the stone paths to another building belonging to the unholy congregation. I had to say that the forest surrounding this infernal place was pretty damn beautiful. During the few days I’d been here, all of the leaves had gone shades of crimson, gold, and orange, most of them falling to the ground. The rain had finally ceased and the sun was beginning to poke through the thin gray clouds, giving the woods less of a creepy vibe and more of a warm autumn glow. 

Had I been here under any other circumstance, the sight would’ve given me comfort. I always loved fall. It was the best time of year, especially with my mom and brother and all of the hijinks we engaged in as a family around Halloween. 

But my brother was now a stranger and I doubted I would ever see my mother again. Instead, it seemed as though I was going to die somehow at the hands of a bunch of Satanists and ghouls, and the only person I was kind of tempted to trust was Special. 

I felt fucked. 

“So, uh, what did you do before coming to the Helvetefönster?” Special questioned, breaking me out of my early mourning. 

I was taken aback. Was he trying to get to know me, genuinely, or was this a ploy to get me to trust him? I guess it didn’t really matter. These people already had me trapped. 

“I was a music teacher,” I answered solemnly. I hadn’t thought much about my class of kids with everything else going on, but now that I was reminded of them, a pang of sorrow shot through me. “I...I worked at a nonprofit. We wanted to give kids a good place to go after school and teach them about music. I taught guitar and piano...not very Satanic of me, huh?” 

Green eyes scanned my face through the small holes of the mask. Part of me wished he’d take the damn thing off so I could see what he was really thinking. The other part of me never wanted to see what was behind the chrome visage. 

“Did it make you happy?” he asked. 

“Yeah.” 

It was my honest answer. My boss was a little obnoxious, but I loved those kids to death and I loved seeing them light up when they finally learned a new chord or song. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else with my life. Not that I’d even have that choice now. 

“Then it was Satanic,” Special told me. He saw my confused expression, chuckled, and explained, “Satanism isn’t about being debaucherous or evil, Elizabeth. It’s about doing what makes you happy, regardless of what society may tell you. It’s about freedom and independence. Not being evil.” 

Once again, I said nothing. I liked that explanation. I liked that idea. But that didn’t like up with the endless body pit I’d seen on the outskirts of the abbey. 

“You don’t believe me.” 

“I’ve seen enough here already not to believe you,” I said. “All those dead bodies in the woods? Anders Borg’s dead sister?” 

Special stopped in his tracks, nearly causing me to run into him. I inhaled sharply, intimidated and taken off guard. Normally I wouldn’t have been so intimidated by a little guy like him, but considering the situation, I had to be. He’d been nice so far but I knew he could turn on me. That, and he was likely a cannibal. 

“There are other things here,” he told me, like I was supposed to instinctively understand what that meant. “Things that aren’t human. It’s not the people here that are responsible for those bodies, its…” 

I was a diehard skeptic. Well, I had been. I was inclined to believe this paranormal explanation, because anything seemed possible here at Helvetefönster. Or maybe I was willing to believe anything other than the cruelty of man to ease my mind. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if I truly wanted to know the answer. 

Special sighed, seeming flustered. Again, the mask prevented me from being too sure of this. 

“We—the ghouls—are not human,” he finally said. “We have...a... _ distinct _ palette.” 

So my suspicions were right. I didn’t have the energy to address the other part of his statement, but that had confirmed my cannibal suspicions. 

“You’re cannibals?!” I blurted out, probably loud enough for half the abbey to hear me. 

“No,” he said. “Because we’re not human.” 

“Not human?!” 

“No, we’re ghouls,” he said again. He was almost laughing now, which, weirdly, began to ease the tension for me though I knew it shouldn’t. “It’s not a nickname or anything. We’re actual ghouls. From Hell. Summoned to work for and protect the Church.” 

I could’ve asked ten thousand questions of that statement, but I didn’t. I was too tired, and at this point, it really didn’t matter to me to dig into all of  _ The Omen _ -esque bullshit I was encountering. I was just going to go with it and see if I survived. 

“Are we going to the music building?” I asked, seeing as we hadn’t moved. 

This time, Special was the one taken aback. 

“You don’t have any questions about what I just told you?” he retorted. “You’ve asked about everything, and you’re perfectly fine with what you just heard?” 

I shrugged.

“Honestly, I’m just rolling with it now. It hurts my head too much to think about everything. Let’s just go see the music building or whatever, yeah?” 

The ghoul stared at me for a moment, then shook his head and laughed. I had to laugh too. Everything was so fucking ridiculous that I couldn’t do anything but laugh now. 

“As you wish.” 


	12. a duet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! i cannot believe people are still reading this with my shitty update schedule but i seriously cannot thank y'all enough.
> 
> i know i'm doing two updates in one week but i think that i'll go back to updating on saturdays when i can from here on out? like when i have finals and stuff it might not be every saturday but i think that's going to be the plan.
> 
> thank you guys again! please don't be afraid to leave a comment i really wanna hear from you and i'll do my best to reply to you!
> 
> next chapter we have a bit of a ~special~ moment so stay tuned for a long awaited moment between our ghoul and gal! thanks and i hope you enjoy!

The music building was in one of the old chapels on the outskirts of the abbey grounds, away from the main building where most of the brothers and sisters lived and worked, so that the band—which consisted of ghouls and Papa—could have their privacy and secrecy while they rehearsed. Inside, nearly everything had been gutted to improve the acoustics and provide the group with more than enough space to get instruments and equipment around. They had put in a stage where the altar once stood, against a wall of stained glass depicting a man with skull paint amongst the flames of Hell. The stage was already littered in the instruments of a rock band: guitars, basses, two drum kits, and a couple of keyboard rigs, as well as a few microphones, and two organs sat on the floor facing the stage. There were a few pews left scattered randomly over the marble floor with sheet music haphazardly placed on some and the balconies had been enclosed, presumably to create little soundproof practice rooms. 

The musician side of me immediately went nuts at the sight of the place. It was better than my work. It was better than the music building at my college. I couldn’t imagine a better dream rehearsal space for anyone who played any kind of rock music. 

I stood near the door staring, taking everything in like a kid given access to Santa’s workshop. I could vaguely hear Special locking the door behind us but I didn’t think about it too much. If he killed me in here, I could die happy. 

“This is where the magic happens,” Special said. He let out a content sigh and set his hands on his hips, making it clear that he was proud of the space. “Feel free to go look at or play anything you want.” 

He didn’t need to tell me nice. As I said, if I was going to die here, I was going to die happy, and I’d sure as hell go out happy if I got to play guitar one last time. 

Without much fear or trepidation, I hopped up onto the low stage and made a beeline for the guitar rack. I grabbed the black one that had been calling my name, slung it around myself, and tuned up. I thought about what to play for a moment, and then decided that it would only be fitting to play something by Ghost. I launched into one of the riffs I remembered, though I couldn’t recall the name. 

Special, who had leapt up after me, let out a chuckle. He seemed to be impressed. 

“You know our music?” he asked. 

I shrugged, my hands coming to a still. 

“Only sorta kinda,” I said. “From what I’ve heard from my brother...I couldn’t tell you what song that was, though.” 

Special laughed. Even I smiled a little. 

“Gibson RD, though?” I went on, referring to the make of the guitar. I turned it over in my hands, checking out every bit of it. “I’ve never seen one in person.” 

“They’re our signature model,” Special informed me. “You’ve got Omega’s there—don’t tell him I let you touch his guitar.” 

Though I didn’t know this ‘Omega,’ I cocked a smirk at the comment. It suggested there was some kind of normalcy in the relationship between him and Special. Or maybe that was me optimistically reading into things. 

“I’m not much of a Gibson girl but this is nice,” I said. “Has a nice feel to it.” 

“What’s wrong with Gibsons?” Special asked. 

“Oh, nothing, just not my thing,” I shrugged. “Everyone’s got a Gibson, I guess, y’know? Especially SGs or Les Pauls...I was never really into them. I’m more of a Fender fan.” 

“Fender? What model?” 

“Yeah,” I nodded. “My Mustang is my baby...was my baby.” 

I caught myself, a knot forming in my throat. I wasn’t going to go home to play my Mustang. I wasn’t going to see my cat or the kids in my class or my mother. 

“We can get you a Mustang if you want one that bad,” Special piped up. 

He seemed quick to ease the tension, quick to try to not let me get too upset. 

“Well, uh...thanks,” I replied. 

I didn’t know what else to say to that, especially because he seemed so genuine about it. It was honestly kind of sweet, or it would’ve been in literally any other situation. I felt his eyes on me and I glanced up to meet his gaze, finding his green eyes intently focused on me. I would’ve said worried about me, but I couldn’t trust that judgement. I wanted to, but I couldn’t, not now. 

“Hey, what’s she doing with my guitar?” 

The sound of another voice startled me. Special and I turned to see three ghouls approaching the stage, apparently having appeared out of thin air. 

“This is Elizabeth,” Special said. 

I guess that explained everything the other ghouls needed to know, as they didn’t say anything els about the guitar. The ducked into neat bows and approached the stage with more respect than they had before. 

“My apologies,” said the same ghoul who had spoken before. “I didn’t realize who I was talking to...it’s a pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth.” 

“This is Omega, Alpha, and Earth,” Special introduced, going down the line of masked men—well, not men, ghouls. “Rhythm guitarist, lead guitarist, and drummer.” 

“Nice to meet you,” I lied. 

_Did all of the ghouls have stupid names? If they really weren’t human, wouldn’t they be named...like Beezlebub or Pazuzu or something?_

“Same to you,” they replied, in near perfect unison. 

They stepped up onstage and I instinctively took off the guitar, handing it to Omega, its rightful owner. He accepted it with a polite nod, but didn’t put it back in the stand like I would’ve expected him to. Instead, he and Alpha and Earth stood around me in a semicircle, a bit too close for my liking, staring me down like starving dogs waiting to be given the okay to devour their dinners. 

I shifted my weight between my feet, feeling supremely uncomfortable, but weirdly not threatened or in any danger. I looked to Special, then realized I was stupid for looking to him for help, and redirected my gaze back down to my feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Special give the others a look that I couldn’t quite decipher, causing the three to relax their postures and clear their throats, like they were trying to diffuse the awkwardness they’d instilled in me. 

“Sorry to make things weird,” Omega apologized on behalf of all of the three. “We, uh...well, it’s a little strange to meet a Ghuleh after all this time waiting.” 

 _A Ghuleh? Not_ The _Ghuleh?_

Special cleared his throat. I didn’t have time to disect why. 

“Are you three here for rehearsal?” Special asked. 

“Oh, yes,” Alpha piped up. “Instrumental rehearsal today, full band rehearsal tomorrow night with Papa...that’s going to be your mini show, right, Elizabeth?” 

“So I’ve been told,” I said. 

“This place will look a lot better tomorrow night,” Earth chimed in. “I’m sure Sister Imperator will have the place in perfect condition for you by then.” 

“I think it already looks great,” I said. I didn’t even think about it—the words simply came out. 

“Did you guys know that Elizabeth is a musician too?” Special said. Thank god he did, it wasn’t like anyone could respond to my stupid comment. And even better, they all seemed at least politely impressed, causing Special to go on to say, “She even knows some of our songs.” 

“Would you play something for us?” Omega asked eagerly. “We’d be honored, seriously.” 

_God, they’re really dedicated to this thing about me being the Ghuleh, aren’t they?_

I didn’t really want to play for three guys—things, creatures, _ghouls_ —that I’d met minutes ago. I loved music but I had terrible stage freight. I had puked before every performance I’d ever done, even if it was just in front of a couple of teachers in school. The idea of playing for three strangers who probably weren’t human and were also professional, world-renowned musicians should’ve scared me. But, if they were totally dedicated to this idea of me being some otherworldly god-like being, maybe they wouldn’t care if I sucked. 

“I, uh…,” I fumbled. “I mean, I guess.” 

The three ghouls applauded already, over nothing. Alpha rushed over to another guitar rack to grab me an acoustic and excitedly shove it into my hands. 

“Here, play one of mine, please,” he tittered. 

Earth rushed to bring me his drum stool to sit on, seeing as Alpha’s acoustic didn’t have a strap on it. 

“And use my stool, please,” instructed the equally eager ghoul. 

“Thanks, guys, it’s not that big of a deal, but thanks,” I said awkwardly as I took a seat. 

The three of the plopped down on the ground, not unlike the children I taught at home. Only they weren’t musically inclined five-to-nine year olds, they were fully grown ghouls. I wanted to laugh. Something struck me funny about the sight. It was also strange to think that I felt significantly more comfortable around the so-called non-human cannibalistic residents of the abbey than I did the human ones, but I still couldn’t think about that too much if I wanted to keep my last few brain cells. 

“Uh, well, here goes nothing…” 

I cleared my throat, the attention of the four ghouls still intently honed in on me, though it still didn’t make me feel uncomfortable, strangely enough. I began playing the same song I’d played earlier, the one Matthew played so much at home, the one that even a couple of my friends from school had liked. I couldn’t remember the fucking name of it and it was starting to drive me nuts as I played more, the chords and notes coming to me easily and without much thought. I hoped a ghoul would tell me what song it was, but instead I got something more significant than that—Special began to sing along. 

_“I feel your presence amongst us_

_You cannot hide in the darkness_

_Can you hear the rumble?_

_Can you hear the rumble that's calling?”_

_“I know your soul is not tainted_

_Even though you've been told so_

_Can you hear the rumble?_

_Can you hear the rumble that's calling?”_

_“I can feel the thunder that's breaking in your heart_

_I can see through the scars inside you_

_I can feel the thunder that's breaking in your heart_

_I can see through the scars inside you…”_

Unconsciously, I stopped playing guitar, becoming too infatuated with listening to Special sing to be able to focus on the instrument anymore past the first chorus. He had an amazingly good voice. Like an inhumanly good voice. Like the voice of an angel, or perhaps more accurately, the voice of a painfully beautiful demon.

_Maybe he’s not human after all._

I was totally mesmerized. I was staring at Special, who turned his head to stare back at me, those green eyes so bright through the small holes of the mask. For a moment, I forgot that I was in a Satanic church in Sweden as a sitting duck waiting to be sacrificed to the dark lord or whatever. For one moment, it was just Special and I and the music and everything was pretty okay. Better than okay. _Fantastic._

Special’s hand gently tapped my arm, causing my skin to erupt in goosebumps. The touch was warm but brief, leaving me wanting more, but forcing me back to reality. 

The three other ghouls were clapping ecstatically, like they’d just witnessed the best goddamn performance of all time. It took me aback to hear that kind of praise, and also to realize that they were still there. It almost felt like an intrusion of sorts, like they’d just witnessed something extremely intimate between Special and I. 

_Don’t fool yourself. He’s probably still gonna eat your corpse after Papa skins you alive._

“That was a beautiful rendition of ‘Cirice,’” Omega praised. “Thank you, Elizabeth.” 

 _Cirice!_ That _was the name of the fucking song!_


	13. little spoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy halloween! i hope everyone is having a great day! halloween is my absolute favorite holiday, but i'm not doing much this year because i'm so busy with school and shit...what about you guys? 
> 
> but, for a little halloween fun, i decided to post this chapter! i hope you guys will like it because i personally really liked writing it and think it's pretty fuckin' cute. let me know what you think down in the comments and i'll try to get back to you! as always, thank you for the continued support, and i hope you enjoy!
> 
> and, again, happy halloween/samhain!

The ghouls, it turned out, were fantastic company. 

In fact, I ended up liking them better than most of my college friends. 

After the duet between Special and I, we were joined by Air, the keyboardist of the band, Water, the bassist, and a couple of other ghouls who gathered to see me in person. Someone brought alcohol and a stereo along and we got to drinking and listening to music. The ghouls drank, for some reason, though none of the wine or other spirits brought along appeared to have any affect on them whatsoever. With the stereo, ghouls eagerly put on every song I casually mentioned enjoying, in between showing me the music they’d written that they were most proud of. The ghouls were also surprisingly hilarious, keeping me laughing with hijinks and dumb jokes all night. I had a drink, then two drinks, then three drinks, then I don’t know how many drinks, but I was starting to walk funny and Alpha cut me off. 

“No more for you,” said the lead guitarist, supporting me as I toppled to my left. “I think you’re done for the night.” 

“C’mon, aren’t we celebrating _me_ here?” I countered drunkenly. “Isn’t this little shindig celebrating me being the Ghuleh or whatever?” 

“All the more reason for us not to let you get alcohol poisoning,” chided Omega lightheartedly, shaking his head. “Papa and the Old One will both be pissed at us if we let you have anymore.” 

“Papa Schmapa,” I dismissed with a floppy hand gesture. “What that Halloweentown-faced dude doesn’t know won’t kill him. Just gimme one more glass of wine, _pleeeeease?_ ” 

The two ghouls chuckled at me but denied me another drink nonetheless. 

“I think that it might be best if you sleep some of this off,” suggested Omega. He turned over his shoulder and called, “Special?” 

The shorter ghoul appeared in an instant. If I wasn’t so drunk, I would’ve thought he literally teleported across the floor. But I was drunk so I didn’t quite believe my own eyes. 

“Shit,” Special uttered, seeing my state. He reached out and gently supported me by the shoulders, taking over for Alpha. “I should’ve been paying more attention…” 

“I’m _fine_!” I nearly shouted. 

However, when I nearly fell into Special, that statement was proven untrue. 

“Can you make it back to your room?” Special asked. 

Deciding it was best to fess up to my limitations, I answered, “Oh _hell_ no. I...I’ll...I’ll fall and crack my skull open if I gotta walk that far.” 

“Okay, okay,” Special said, trying to think quick on his feet. “I’ll take you down to my room for the night, then, and you can sleep it off.” 

“Ooo, sexy,” I said. I was too drunk to even regret it. “Wanna sleep with me? I wanna see if you’ve got, like, a ghoul dick or something. Or a tail. A dick-tail. Tail-dick? I don’t fuckin’ know.” 

The three ghouls were trying not to laugh at me, but at that moment, I didn’t care if they did or not. 

“C’mon, hang on to me,” Special said. 

I did. I didn’t really have another choice if I didn’t want to faceplant. I hung onto him, kind of surprised that he was so easily able to support my weight as he lead me towards a door at the back of the building. I was kind of impressed. I hadn’t pegged him as being that strong. 

And I didn’t know if it was the alcohol, but it felt really nice to be touching him, like it did earlier when we played music together…

_Keep your mouth shut before you say something REALLY fucking stupid, Elizabeth._

“Do you think you can make it down one flight of stairs?” 

“If you keep holding me.” 

_Fuck, when did I start becoming a horny drunk? Why did I decide to start doing that now and not, like, when I actually had a boyfriend?_

“Will do.” 

One arm still around me, Special reached out his other arm to open the door, revealing a cramped spiral staircase illuminated by lanterns set high on the wall. He started down the stairs first, I guess in case I fell, and then maneuvered me down along with him. The door shut behind us on its own. I was way too inebriated to even think of questioning that. 

It was, as expected, close quarters going down the stairs. I didn’t mind. I liked being close to Special. He was warm and I was cold in these old stone buildings. It was like he was running a fever, but in a pleasant way, if that made any sense. 

Luckily, made it down the stairs without incident, and after a walk down a short hallway, we were in Special’s room. It wasn’t so much of a room. It was more of an enormous studio apartment, outfitted in the same Gothic decor as the rest of the abbey. But what was obviously different was that Special’s room contained numerous floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves, filled with more records than I could ever imagine listening to in a lifetime. The rest of the room was filled with a myriad of musical equipment as well, probably extras from upstairs. 

“Do you want to lay down?” Special asked, once he’d safely gotten me into a haphazardly placed armchair. 

“No!” I told him. “I’m still ready to fuckin’ party!” 

_I haven’t been this much of a drunk mess since sophomore year of college…_

He laughed, but told me, “I don’t think that’s what’s best.” 

Seeing the record player on the table beside me, I flopped around on the chair to face it. 

“Ooo, what’re you listening to?” I asked, grappling for the record sleeve. “ABBA? That’s not...that’s is not...that’s not what I was expect-timg.” 

“Hey, ABBA is great,” he said, playfully defensive. 

“I know!” I yelled. I was way too loud and unable to control it. “I love ABBA! Let’s listen to them! Let’s dance! You wanna dance?!” 

“I…” 

Before I could get a real answer from Special, I put the needle back on the record and flicked the machine on. One of their ballads came through the speakers and I stumbled to my feet, almost directly falling into Special’s arms. He caught me expertly, setting his hands on my hips to steady me, fingers splaying into the small of my back. I lazily draped my arms over his shoulders and leaned down to rest my head on his shoulder as well, letting him guide me into a messy swaying waltz. 

“I am _not_ a good dancer,” I said, talking into the fabric of his jacket. 

“Maybe when you’re sober you’re better,” he said kindly. 

“Mmmm...maybe. I doubt it.” 

We didn’t say anything for a couple of songs. I hung onto him sloppily and he kept his arms around my waist, tugging me tighter to him in a sly sort of way so that I wouldn’t fall over. It was a weirdly intimate thing to do with someone I barely knew who claimed not to be human. I failed to see or feel anything strange about it in my drunken state. Instead, I could only focus on how nice it felt. He was warm and his arms felt strong around me. He smelled nice too. Like fall woods after it rained. Or something like that. 

“Sp...Special?” 

“Yes?” 

“Is it...is it weird that I, like... _trust_ you? I...I mean, it’s not like we... _know_ each other. I just feel like I...like you’re the least likely to sacrifice me to Satan.” 

“No one is sacrificing you to anyone,” he said softly. “You’re safe.” 

That did something to me. I broke our nice moment, abruptly separating myself from him to fall back into the chair hard enough to mess with the record player, making it skip a couple of seconds. Special was jarred by my sudden change in demeanor and mood, which changed even more rapidly as I started to cry. He knelt down to try to help me but I wasn’t having it. 

“I’m not safe,” I sobbed. I was feeling everything and I was feeling it _a lot_ because of the alcohol in my system. “I’m not gonna see my mom or my friends or my cat ever again and I’m gonna die here and you’re lying to me about it and for some reason I still trust you and like you and oh my god I’m—”

“Elizabeth,” Special interrupted. I was on the verge of hyperventilating. “You’re going to make yourself sick; you need to relax.” 

He set his hands on my knees, stroking gentle lines with his thumbs, like he knew just how to get me to settle down. I hated that it worked, without him putting much effort into it. 

I glanced up. There was genuine worry in his bright green eyes. Or maybe I was fucking delusional, even more so with all the alcohol in my system. But he really seemed to be worried and I really wanted to believe that he was. 

I remembered those green eyes. I remembered those green eyes watching me intently from behind that mask. 

I laughed at myself, hardly able to believe how insane I’d become. I dropped my head in my hands. I didn’t think I could handle looking at him anymore. 

“What’re you laughing at?” 

“Nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing.” 

“I...I think...you’re gonna think I sound crazy.” 

I didn’t know that. Maybe he wouldn’t. He wasn’t human, after all. I just didn't want to hear myself say it for fear of confirming my insanity out loud. 

“I won’t,” he assured me. “I promise.” 

I sighed and picked my head up and met his gaze once again. 

_What did I have to lose?_

“I think I saw you in my dreams,” I blurted out, the alcohol easing some of the anxiety. His eyes went wide for a moment as I explained, “I remember your eyes.” 

A moment passed, much longer than I was comfortable with. If this non-human Satanist thought I was insane, I must’ve really fucking lost it. 

“You need some sleep,” he said. 

He lifted a gentle hand to my cheek, gingerly wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. The horny drunk in me wanted to turn my head and suck one of his fingers. I couldn’t help it; the guy had nice hands. Thankfully, whatever rational part of me that was left prevented that from happening. I focused on how nice it felt when his skin brushed against mine, warm and almost tingly. 

“I’ll help you to the bed.” 

He did, and I didn’t fight him on it. I let him ease me into the enormous bed fitted in black dressings. I even let him help me get my boots off. I didn’t have it to fight. I wanted to sleep and hope to whatever higher power was out there that I’d wake up back home with my cat. 

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked. 

“Stay with me.” 

I didn’t think about it. That was what I wanted. I didn’t want to be alone in this place anymore. Special was the only one I felt I could trust around here and I wanted him to be with me. I knew it was stupid, but I felt like he could keep me safe. That, and he was so warm, and it was so goddamn cold here in the modified dungeon. 

He watched me from behind the mask, waiting for me to change my mind. Without a word, he slipped into bed with me tentatively, like he was scared getting too close to me would hurt me. 

“Turn around,” I said, tapping his waist lightly. “Be my little spoon. It’ll be cute.” 

He chuckled and obeyed, flipping over and allowing me to hug him from behind. He was hesitant, but after a few moments he laid his arms over mine. I thought about how much more comfortable this would be if he wasn’t wearing that ridiculous suit of his, jacket and all. _It would be even better without any clothes in the way_ , thought that horny drunk part of me that had yet to go away. 

For now, this was more than enough. For now, for this little tiny moment, everything felt okay. 

And I wasn’t going to question that.


	14. are you on the square?

I woke with a pounding headache. My first instinct was to wonder why. Then I remembered that I had partied with the ghouls last night. And that I had spent the night with Special, in his room, in his bed. 

_Fuck…_

I sat up slowly, rubbing my the sleep from my eyes with closed fists. I opened my eyes carefully, knowing that the light would only make my headache worse. It had been a few years since I’d really gotten drunk and the hangover was worse than I remembered it being. 

“Good morning.” 

Special appeared from behind one of the bookshelves, toting a cup of coffee and a small plate of toaster waffles and strawberries. He was still in his suit and mask. I wondered if he slept in it or if he changed into a fresh set.

Then I remembered that I’d made him let me spoon him last night and set my gaze down to my hands out of embarrassment. I hoped my cheeks didn’t betray just how embarrassed I was.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked, serving me breakfast in bed. 

I thanked him and gladly accepted the coffee, taking a long sip in the hopes that it would sober me up a bit. 

“Hungover,” I answered. 

Special chuckled at how frank I’d been.

“Would some ibuprofen help?” he replied, producing a small bottle from his pocket. 

“Yeah, thank you.” 

He handed me the waffles and strawberries as well, and I thanked him for those too. He took a seat at the foot of the bed. He was careful to keep distance between us. I’d probably scared him off last night and I couldn’t blame him if I did. 

I felt...weird about it. I hadn’t meant to scare him off. I didn’t want to scare him off. I knew it didn’t even matter because at the end of the day, he was still a member of the cult that was going to end up killing me. Still, I liked him. He’d been, from the start, the most sane and likeable person—or ghoul—I’d met in this place. I didn’t want to lose whatever strange and small friendship I felt we’d forged. 

“Unfortunately, there’s not much time to enjoy breakfast today,” Special said, breaking the silence. “Sister Imperator has requested a meeting with you.” 

“Sister Imperator?” I echoed. 

I’d met her briefly on my first evening at Helvetefönster but I couldn’t say I had any real distinct impression of her. I did remember how nervous Copia appeared when her name was mentioned. That didn’t make me feel any better. 

“Yes. She’s eager to start planning your trials.” 

“Trials?” 

“Trials,” Special confirmed. “There are three trials, or tests, that you have to undergo before anyone can definitively decide that you’re the Ghuleh.” 

I furrowed my brow as I downed a strawberry. _Great._

“Hasn’t everyone already decided that I am, though?” I inquired. “That’s the impression I’ve gotten.” 

Special gave me a shrug. 

“We’re pretty sure,” he said. “But you still have to do the trials, just to be sure. It’s more of a formality than anything, at least in your case.” 

“My case?” 

Another nod. 

“Yes, you’re...different. The other ghouls and I are all but certain that you are—or are able—to be the Ghuleh. But the humans in the clergy need the trials to make things official.” 

“Fun.” 

He laughed at my dry comment. 

“Well, try to finish up fast so we don’t piss off the old hag,” he said. I nearly choked on my strawberry at the ‘old hag,’ comment. “I had Cumulus bring you some fresh clothes, so I’ll give you those and let you get freshened up before we go.” 

He rose, presumably to go get my clothes. I felt like an idiot, a nervous wreck, but I couldn’t let last night go. I had to say something. I had to apologize. 

“Special?” 

He stopped, turning on his heels to face me again, waiting for me to say what I had to say. 

“I’m sorry about last night,” I blurted. “I’m sorry I was weird and a messy drunk, and I’m sorry you were stuck with my ass, and I’m really sorry I made you sleep with me, and if that was weird or uncomfortable—” 

“Not at all,” he interjected. He sounded like he was being honest, too. 

He saw my quizzical glance, which prompted him to add, “It wasn’t weird or uncomfortable, not at all. It was actually quite...eh, well, it’s nothing to worry about, Elizabeth.” 

With that, he turned back around to fetch my clothes from another part of the room, leaving me confused in a completely new way than before. 

x X x

The walk back to the main building of the abbey was quiet. Special and I didn’t talk. He didn’t even try to make small talk like he normally did. I couldn’t help but to worry that I’d really weirded him out last night. I felt bad about it, like I’d lost my only friend in this damn place. Well, I guess the other ghouls were cool but they weren’t...Special. And maybe it was stupid of me to place that kind of trust in him and want to be his friend. But I did, and now I felt I’d totally fucked it up and I had no clue what to say to make it any better. 

We walked into Papa’s office, and despite he and Sister Imperator already being there along with a couple of guard ghouls, I never felt so alone. I was also vulnerable and scared. I would’ve felt a bit better if I hadn’t messed things up with Special. I would’ve at least felt I had him on my side. I didn’t know if I felt that way now and I didn’t love how upset the thought of that made me. 

“Good morning, _passerotta,_ ” Papa greeted. He was sitting on top of his desk, his legs crossed casually but elegantly. He was donning the full face paint, despite it barely being ten thirty in the morning. “I trust you slept well? And that Special took care of you last night?” 

_God, if you fucking knew…_

I went to look at Special out of the corner of my eye. He didn’t me my glance. I swallowed uncomfortably. 

“Yes, thank you,” I said. 

Sister Imperator, who stood beside Papa’s desk with her arms crossed, was eyeing me like a vulture. She didn’t have any of the concern that Papa at least pretended to have. 

“We’d like to start your trials today,” she said, abruptly changing the subject. “If you consent to doing so, of course.” 

_Did I really have a choice?_

“Yeah…,” I answered less than halfheartedly. “I guess.” 

Once again, I looked to Special for any kind of reassurance, and once again, I got none. 

“Fantastic,” Sister Imperator said, clasping her hands together with a clap. “Then tonight we will have you stand on the square in the cathedral. We cannot procede with any of the other trial rituals until Satan has accepted you on the square. The Ghuleh must be a devoted Satanist, first and foremost, so will shall start with that.” 

Papa wagged a finger as he interjected, “But, Sister, we were planning on—”

“Doing something more important than _this?_ ” Sister Imperator finished for him. She raised a brow that was both skeptical and annoyed.

“Well, no…,” Papa answered. It was strange, seeing Papa, who had been typically so flamboyant, so meek when speaking to Sister Imperator. “We were going to put on a small show for Elizabeth, the band and I…”

“And that certainly can wait for another day,” Sister concluded. “Tonight we shall begin Elizabeth’s trials at nine p.m.”

“Before the congregation?” Papa inquired. 

“No,” replied Imperator. “That would cause too much excitement, I’m afraid...and I don’t want to get the Brothers and Sisters all wound up for nothing, in case Elizabeth turns out not to be the one…” 

Her gray eyes scanned me up and down. She set her lips together and formed a small frown as she sighed, as if she was expecting me not to be the one. I didn’t know if I wanted to be the Ghuleh or not. Either way I’d end up dying. It was a lose-lose situation for me. 

“Very well,” Sister Imperator said, indicating our little meeting was over. “I will see you all tonight in the cathedral.” 

x X x

I was nervous and off-kilter throughout the rest of the day. Special escorted me back to my room after our meeting with Papa and Sister Imperator, where I spent the next few hours alone, except for when Cumulus came by with my lunch and dinner. I was sort of thankful for some alone time, seeing as I hadn’t had any since my arrival, and I was pleasantly surprised to find the bookshelf in my room well-stocked with some of my favorites. I tried to read but my mind was too preoccupied to focus much. I ended up picking at my food and flopping down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, worrying both about what had happened last night and what was going to happen later tonight. 

All I knew was that I was going, “on the square,” whatever the hell that meant. I would’ve asked Special, but I didn’t feel comfortable doing that yet. He had been polite but definitely more standoffish than usual, only confirming my suspicion that drunk me had totally fucked up any chance of me having an ally here. I wondered about if things were different. I wondered if Special and I had met in literally any other circumstance...would things be less weird? Would we really be able to be actual friends if he wasn’t part of a Satanic cult set out to kill me? 

Could we be more than friends if things were different?

But that was a stupid thought. I couldn’t believe myself. I couldn’t believe I was thinking about having a goddamn middle school crush on a guy whose face I’d never seen, whose name I didn’t know, who claimed not to be human, and who, again, was a part of a goddamn Satanic church that had kidnapped my brother and was eager to murder me one way or another. 

Last night had just been so... _nice._ I had fun with the ghouls. I liked the ghouls. And Special had been so, so caring and sweet. And I couldn’t forget the way it felt when he touched me—warm, and familiar, like I remembered his touch from a past life, or perhaps from those stupid dreams I just had to mention to him. And then there was the way he smelled. And how nice his hands were. And the way it felt when he was my little spoon and how I just knew it would be even better of a feeling without clothes in the way…

Fuck, I really had lost my fucking mind. 

Maybe this was a part of the Church’s plan from the start. Maybe they wanted me to trust Special so they could get me to go along with their plans more easily. And I had fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker. 

Yet I couldn’t shake the lingering feeling that it wasn’t a sham, that Special really did, in some capacity, like me. Maybe not like _that,_ but as a person, as a friend. And that was why I was convinced that I really was a goddamn fool. 

I snapped out of all of my stupid, senseless thoughts when Special came to get me around eight forty-five. He was polite but curt, pleasant but to the point, only telling me “hello,” and not much more. I didn’t complain. I put on a jacket given to me by the Church and followed him outside, down the winding path that led to the cathedral. 

I didn’t like walking the abbey grounds in the dark. The paths were illuminated by candle-lit street lights, but it did little to shed light on the vast dark forest that engulfed us. I shivered when I looked out to it, memories of the damned and the bodies and Anders Borg coming back to mind when I did. I didn’t want to think about any of that. 

A couple of guard ghouls let us into the cathedral, and locked us inside. The cathedral was a mega version of the music building—an enormous, cavernous stone church with Gothic archways and stained glass with scenes of hell and demons and the Devil along the walls. The floor was black and white checkered marble, with a large gold and crimson grucifix (as I learned it was called) set in the floor before the altar. The pews were glistening ebony wood with copies of the Satanic bible lining them neatly. The building was gigantic. It kept going forever, or so it seemed. I could easily bet that a thousand people could fit inside. 

Down before the altar, Papa stood in full papal attire: robe, mitre, grucifix scepter. Sister Imperator stood by his side, as well as an ancient looking man in the same skull paint and papal attire as Papa, though he looked ancient and was wearing an oxygen mask. Two small children dressed in black stood to his side and slightly behind him, eyeing him like vultures. Special gestured for me to follow him to meet them, and I did, with a lump in my throat and the unshakeable sensation of having to vomit. 

“Elizabeth, this is Papa Nihil, one of our church elders,” Sister Imperator introduced, gesturing to the oxygen-masked Satanic priest. “Papa, Elizabeth.” 

The old man gave a vague wave and nod. It appeared as though moving anymore would reduce him to dust. I got no explanation of the children and I didn’t expect to get one. 

“Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” Papa Emeritus suggested. He seemed a bit antsy. 

On cue, four ghouls came down the aisle of the church, toting a huge square slab of stone with ease. They laid it before us at the foot of the altar. Up close, I could now see that it was etched with runes and symbols in a circular pattern, spiraling towards one final circle in the middle of it all. It looked like an ancient artifact that you’d see in a museum, not something to be toted around by a gaggle of ghouls. 

Sister Imperator, Special, Papa Nihil, the children, and the four ghouls all took a seat upon the first pew, watching Papa Emeritus and I at the altar around the square. _Ah,_ the _square._ Now I understood. _Sort of._

“By standing on the square, you will be pledging yourself to Satan,” Papa Emeritus explained. He was more serious than I’d ever seen him before, except when he had relayed the whole Ghuleh prophecy to me. “You will devote yourself to his Infernal Majesty and, if all goes well, he will accept you into the flock.” 

 _And if he doesn’t accept me?_ I thought. I didn’t ask. I didn’t think I really needed to. 

“You accept this?” Papa asked. 

I gulped and nodded. I squeezed my hands into fists, wishing I was squeezing Special’s hand for support instead. 

“Very well. Stand on the center of the square, please.” 

I did as I was told. The stone felt alive beneath my feet—like it was breathing. It moved up and down ever so slightly, vibrating with each “breath,” in the faintest kind of way. 

Papa held his gloved hands out, like he was going to bless me, but really, he was doing he opposite. He closed his painted eyes and recited something in Latin that I didn’t understand, but the others chanted, “ _Nema_ ,” in response to. The shaking beneath my feet grew just a tad stronger. 

Papa’s head snapped up and his eyes flashed open, bearing into mine like he was staring into the depths of my soul. 

“Elizabeth Anne Lund,” he began. “Do you, of your own will and volition, hereby consent to dedicating the rest of your existence, in this life and the next, to serving his Infernal Majesty, Satan?” 

I wanted to say, _Fuck no!_ and run until my feet wouldn’t go any further, but I knew that wasn’t an option. 

“Yes.” 

“Satan, Unholy Father, Rebel Chief, Destroyer of the Earth...do you accept this woman into your unholy flock?” 

The slab was shaking beneath me now, so hard that I couldn’t stand up and fell to my knees. My palms landed against the stone but I quickly retracted them—it was so hot that I feared I’d burned a layer of skin off. In awe and disbelief, I watched as electric orange light wound its way through the runes, starting on the corners and working its way towards me, like an electric circuit. The light hit the circle I was kneeling in and suddenly everything went white. I squeezed my eyes shut; it was so bright it hurt, so bright it burned my eyes. 

Just as quickly as the light came, it was gone, and an eerie, deep, rumbling voice spoke one single word that reverberated throughout the cathedral. 

“ _Yes._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! sorry for the gap in updates, i had a crazy couple of weeks at school. 
> 
> a lot went down in this chapter! what do you guys think? leave me a comment down below and i'll do my best to try to get back to you! thanks for all the continued support! also, what do you think is gonna go down next now that elizabeth has officially sold her soul?


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